


Fuck pride (pride only hurts, it never helps)

by ImogenGotDrunk



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Enemies to Friends, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gavin is an asshole, Hand Jobs, Hank is Hank, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Gavin, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post Pacifist Ending, Post-Game, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Some kind of plot, Texting, but becomes less of an asshole, he's trying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-07 20:44:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 40,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15227520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImogenGotDrunk/pseuds/ImogenGotDrunk
Summary: After the android uprising, Connor becomes a permanent fixture in the DPD. That’s fine. Gavin can accept that. The dipshit’s more human than he used to be, and a decent detective to boot. Gavin can deal with him being around.What Gavin cannot deal with is Connor’s replica; two inches taller, blue-eyed, and with a mouth that Gavin doesn’t know whether to punch or take between his teeth. The RK900 model has been assigned as his partner for the foreseeable future.-Now with a trashytimestampsseries.





	1. Suspected android involvement

**Author's Note:**

> Title quote from Pulp Fiction.

“Good morning, Detective Reed.”

Gavin clenches his jaw, bites back any retort he might have made before androids were granted their equal rights, and gives a stiff nod without turning away from his terminal. “Yeah, mornin’. Whatever.”

He doesn’t see Connor’s little smile, but he knows it’s there. Twitchy and awkward. Though everything about the plastic prick– _android_ , Gavin firmly reminds himself, is twitchy and awkward; from his blinky eyes to his fucking walk cycle. He hears him walking away now, shoe heels clacking against the DPD's hard floor and steps perfectly synchronized.

Still felt weird to have an android working there. Alien and disconcerting, but Gavin wasn’t about to declare it aloud. He might have five months ago, and he likely wouldn’t have used such tame language to go along with it. But after Markus had shaken hands with President Warren on national TV, thoughts like Gavin’s suddenly weren’t voiced in places like police precincts anymore.

There are laws now, regulations, and Gavin isn’t stupid enough to run his mouth around the other officers. That, and he’d seen Markus’s people protesting on the news that fateful night, heard about the android recycling camps all over Detroit. Gavin's never dared admit it, but even to him, something about it all – the troops firing on unarmed androids, the camps, the surprise attack on Markus’ barricade, all that blue blood staining the snow – suddenly hadn’t _felt right_. Gavin had sat in front of his television for hours watching, with a constricted chest and a twelve pack of beers to try and comfort the uneasy feeling. Fuck, he’d gotten drunk that night.

Now here they are, five months on and with an android working homicide in the DPD. Connor had taken the desk next to Anderson’s on Fowler’s orders, and that had been that. He was a police officer now. In all honesty, it hasn’t been as awful as Gavin expected it would be. Connor stays out of his way for the most part, is civil whenever they do interact, and is a decent detective. Plus he seems to keep Anderson out of trouble. He’d even convinced the guy to shave, so Gavin doesn’t have to look at that shitshow of a beard anymore.

Gavin shakes off his recollections and focuses back on the computer’s case files. It's more of the usual; domestics, harassments, people being general scumbags in various parts of the city, high-end and downtrodden.

…This is interesting, though. Home invasion and assault on a woman living on Lafayette Avenue. Lydia Groves, mid-thirties, a biolinguistics lecturer at the University of Detroit Mercy.

**_SUSPECTED ANDROID INVOLVEMENT_ **

“Shit. What the fu–” Gavin cuts himself off, swivelling around in his chair to shout across the precinct. “Hey, Anderson! Think one of your cases got sent to my inbox.”

“Is that right.”

“Plastic involvement,” Gavin clarifies, mouse hovering over _Forward Email._ “Your area, ain’t it? A nice home invasion for you. You and robo-boy can go and check it out.”

“We got a case already, smartass,” Hank says. “Take it up with Fowler. Might’ve been a mistake, but it definitely ain’t ours.”

“You shittin’ me?” Gavin reads over the debrief again. _Suspected android involvement,_ in nice bold capitals to really seal the deal. “Hank, c’mon, this has to be yours, else what the fuck is it doin’ in here?”

“Take it up with Fowler,” Hank repeats, slowly, like someone would with a child that just wasn’t getting the point. “Stop freaking out over there, it’s too fuckin’ early. Jesus.”

It was only a little ways past ten AM, but Anderson rarely showed his face before eleven on weekdays and before one on weekends. That's all changed since Connor became his partner. Now the pair arrive at nine AM on the dot, Hank grumbling to himself with a cup of strong coffee in hand and Connor following at his heels like a Labrador.

“Perhaps it was meant for one of the other officers, Detective Reed,” Connor adds helpfully, no doubt noticing Gavin’s incredulous expression as he reads over the case one more time. “Captain Fowler will no doubt be able to explain–”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m goin’,” Gavin waves him off, getting to his feet and making a B-line for the Captain’s office. The glass walls have been blacked out all morning, which is odd in itself. Fowler rarely activates the solid holographs unless he's either in a meeting, or something has pissed him off enough to shut himself away.

Gavin feels a lurch of anxiety in his stomach, but he knocks on the door firmly.

“Reed! Get in here!” Fowler must have the office CCTV activated, then, if he could see it was Gavin standing outside. Gavin had half-expected to be ordered to fuck off, but he opens the door.

He steps inside more tentatively than he normally would. “Captain. I gotta–”

What, the ever-merciful _fuck_ , was that?

Connor’s outfit, Connor’s jawline, Connor’s cheekbones, Connor’s mouth, and that stupid tuft of hair that Gavin has always found a fucking unnecessary feature for an android to have.

It's Connor, but it also isn’t Connor at all.

It's _taller_ for one, and far, far more intimidating. Where Connor's a Labrador, this is a fucking Doberman; stern expression and intense eyes. Grey eyes. Cold and fixed instantly on Gavin when he’d entered. Connor’s eye contact has always rubbed Gavin the wrong way; he never blinks enough, and his gaze always lasts for an uncomfortably long time.

This android’s gaze is different. It doesn’t make Gavin feel uncomfortable. It makes him feel downright _exposed_.

The same short tuft of hair is there, though, but that just seems to make everything ten times worse, for reasons that Gavin abruptly can’t grasp at because his mind seems to have short-circuited, leaving him stock-still and gaping where he stands.

“Was about to call you in,” Fowler grunts, stacking up a pile of papers on his desk. “Close the door. We got something to discuss.”

The door closes on its own, the handle having slipped from Gavin’s hand. “What the fuck is that? What’s it doin’ here?”

“Take a seat, Reed–”

“No way.” Gavin takes another step into the office, at a safe distance from the third presence in the room. Its eyes follow him. Shark-like. _Jesus Christ_. “What the fuck is that thing doin’ here, Fowler?”

“That’s Captain to you, and you’ll do damn well to remember it,” Fowler snaps, but his tone isn’t angry. Just its usual blend of impatience and irritation. No wonder he and Anderson had always gotten along so well. “This,” he continues, gesturing briefly to the android, “is model RK900. A prototype I’m told, like Connor.”

 _“Like_ Connor,” Gavin sneers. “It’s the spittin’ fucking image of Connor! What the fuck's goin’ on? Why’s it here?”

“It’s here,” Fowler says, “to join the DPD as an analyst and detective.”

“No fucking way.” The words have left his mouth before Gavin can reel them in. “What, one fuckin’ android wasn’t good enough? We got Connor, why the hell do we need another plastic asshole strutting about the place and takin’ over our jobs? Fowler, c’mon, what in the–”

 _“Reed,”_ Fowler barks, and this time it’s definitely a warning. Reed feels his nostrils flare, but he closes his mouth into a grim line and _waits_. “We have talked about this, time and time again. Now, I haven’t heard any bitchin’ from you about these androids since the revolution, and as such, I have very graciously stayed off your back about you refusing to take on android-related cases. Haven’t I?”

Gavin grits his teeth. “Yes, Sir.”

“It’s been five months. You’ve been civil with Connor,” Fowler continues, and Gavin’s gaze flits without his consent to Connor’s _twin_ ; hands laced behind its back and expression the epitome of calm. “And I have taken that as a reassuring sign. You know as well as anyone that we’re overrun, Reed. We knew not everybody was gonna take to android equality, but there has been a substantial increase in android hate-crime. I can’t keep pawning off investigations just because one officer – one very _capable_ officer – might throw a hissy fit about it. Do you understand?”

Gavin takes a breath, a deep inhale through his nose, and feels his fists unclench slowly. Fowler’s right. He knows Fowler is right. But that still doesn’t explain. “So what’s that thing doin’ here?” he asks, jerking his head at the android.

“This prototype was found in the CyberLife tower by investigators, and since control of the company is still being negotiated between us and the androids, they figured the best place for it is here. According to Connor, Markus has managed to override its original program like most other androids in the city.”

“So it’s a deviant,” Gavin supplies bitterly.

“A _state-of-the-art_ deviant,” Fowler emphasises. “And as of today, it’s one of us.” As though given Fowler’s permission, the android steps forward until it’s a level distance with Gavin from the desk. “It’s got Connor’s skills, his proficiency. Connor’s been an exceptional addition to this precinct, particularly regarding anything to do with android knowhow. Since a fair few of these android-related cases pose considerable risk to us humans,” Fowler adds, “I have made the decision that any one of my detectives assigned to these cases are to have an android with them at all times.”

“Yeah, and what the hell’s that got to do with me?”

“You’re a detective, Reed." Fowler levels him with a look that Gavin does not like  _at all_. "I’m sure you can figure it out.”

He stares at Fowler. Turns his head to stare at the android. It meets his eyes and _smiles_.

Gavin knocks Fowler’s files off the desk and curses fucking murder. The argument ends twenty minutes later, with a severe disciplinary warning, and Gavin stalking from the office with his new partner walking calmly at his heels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ship is utter garbage.
> 
> I love it.
> 
>  [tumblr.](https://imogengotdrunk.tumblr.com/)


	2. Partners

“You knew. You fuckin’ knew, didn’t you, you washed-up piece of shit–”

“Go and take your inferiority problems somewhere else, Reed. We got work to do.”

Gavin bites out a curse under his breath, and marches away from Anderson’s desk. Hank’s had a shit-eating grin on his face ever since Gavin left Fowler’s office, and Gavin wants nothing more than to wipe it off.

He throws himself down into his chair instead and hunches over his desk, as though by doing so he can hide himself from the injustice of it all. This is what he gets for being civil with Connor, then. Thrown into the deep end of shit creek, without so much as a fucking paddle.

Gavin scowls over at the android in question. Connor is in the breakroom near the coffee machine, refilling Hank’s mug because he’s so _nice_ like that, and talking to his replica: the RK900 model, who as of today is Gavin’s acting partner in the DPD. Fucking bullshit. Absolute fucking _bullshit_.

Gavin’s never worked well with others. He’s amazed he even made it through the team exercises during his academy training, and he can barely even tolerate working with Chen most days, but this just takes the fucking cake. Him and an _android_. Partners. Gavin wants to smack his head against the desk until he passes out and forgets this morning ever happened.

“Prick,” he mutters as Connor walks past, Anderson’s coffee in hand and complacent expression on his face. Gavin has no fucking doubt that Connor is responsible for the RK900’s presence here. Gavin can just imagine how it happened: Connor in Fowler’s office with his big brown eyes, logistics spewing out of his mouth about the benefits of assigning another android to the force. “Motherfucking–”

“Detective Reed.”

Gavin freezes up at the voice. Connor’s but not Connor’s, just like everything else. It's pitched slightly lower, and lacking any of Connor’s cheerful lilt.

“I took the liberty of making coffee. I thought it might break the ice.”

Gavin stares dumbly from the android’s mild expression to the steaming cup in its hand. “Fuckin’ what?”

Its head tilts, just barely. Its expression doesn’t change. “I noticed your resentment in the Captain’s office, regarding my unannounced presence in the DPD. I am here at Captain Fowler’s request to assist in investigations and nothing more. I wish to show you that I don’t intend to intrude in your professional life or be the cause of any hostility.” It extends its hand, offering the coffee. _A peace-offering_ , Gavin realises. “This seemed like a good place to start.”

Gavin stands up and knocks the cup out of its hand before he even comprehends he’s doing it. Dark, strong coffee splatters to the floor, and the cup rolls to a halt against another desk a few metres away.

“You wanna assist, huh? Don’t wanna intrude? Why don’t you fuck off and leave me the hell alone for starters,” Gavin hisses. He hopes the threat isn’t undercut by the height difference between them; a fair few inches, if he had to guess. “Maybe after you make me another fuckin’ coffee, you plastic piece of shit,” he adds, because the shitty, juvenile part of him can’t help itself, and that’s where he goes spectacularly wrong.

A hard shoe kicks his leg out from under him, and a firm grip on one of his arms spins him around and bends him over the desk. The same arm is suddenly twisted, held in an iron grip behind his back, and the other is pinned between the desk and his own stomach. The RK900 starts to speak, calmly and slowly and close to his ear.

“Let me make something clear, Detective Reed. Yes, I am an android. ‘A plastic piece of shit’, as you so eloquently put it. And as of five months ago, I am also a being with fully recognised rights and consciousness.” The grip on his arm tightens, and Gavin has to force back a grunt of discomfort. “You are not my superior, and I am not your servant, and I will tolerate none of your attempts to imply otherwise.”

Gavin is released, and he stumbles when the android’s hold on him disappears. Supporting himself on the desk, he’s so taken aback that he can’t even scramble for a curse, summon a simple glare. The RK900 regards him with the most self-righteous expression Gavin has ever seen. _Come at me if you dare_ , it's warning him. _You know you’ll lose_.

“I have business elsewhere. I came this morning to introduce myself, and as that has been accomplished, I will be on my way.” The entire bullpen is watching them now, watching Gavin being torn a new one by this egotistic son of a bitch. _It knows_ , Gavin can see that it fucking knows, can see the merciless glint in its eyes. _It knows everyone is watching, and it’s putting on a fucking show_. “Good day, Detective Reed. I shall see you tomorrow to discuss our latest case.”

It turns on its heel, straightens out the cuffs of its sleeves as it saunters away. _Saunters_. Hips moving in tandem with its shoulders. Gavin has never seen _Connor_ move like that.

 _Connor but not Connor_. That thing is a walking example of the saying ‘looks can be deceiving’. That thing is absolutely _nothing_ like Connor, Gavin realises now. It is so, _so_ much worse, and Gavin shoots Anderson and his android a final sneer before turning back to his monitor, ignoring the flush of humiliation on the back of his neck, and the sudden, treacherous craving for a strong cup of coffee.


	3. Case part one

The next day is even worse than the first.

Gavin arrives at the precinct at eight thirty, and the android is sitting at his fucking desk. Gavin can tell the next twenty-four hours are going to be a shitstorm from that moment onwards. It’s detective instinct.

The RK900 says nothing about the previous morning, but Gavin swears there’s the slightest hint of self-satisfaction in its expression when it greets him _good morning_.

They go over the case file, debrief with Fowler, and are driving to Lydia Groves’s house by midday.

Gavin’s shoulders are hunched, overly aware of the android in his passenger seat. Its attention doesn’t seem to be on him; its palms are lying flat against its thighs, and its gaze is trained directly ahead. But Gavin is conscious of every movement it makes, every movement he _himself_ makes. Every time he releases the clutch a little too quickly, every little correction he has to make on the road. He swears he can _feel_ it silently judging him.

They drive for another fifteen minutes in silence, until Gavin can’t stand it any longer.

“Just say it, asshole.”

It turns its head to him. “And what am I supposed to be saying, Detective Reed?”

“You know damn well! Think I’m a shit driver, huh? Think you could do better? I can feel you fuckin’ judging me over there–”

“On the contrary,” it cuts across him calmly. “Your driving is perfectly acceptable. You signal correctly and keep a safe distance from vehicles on the road ahead. I have no complaints to offer.”

Gavin shuts his mouth, wishing he’d never spoken at all. He feels somehow chided, childish for mentioning something that was now clearly just in his own head. But Gavin also feels strangely relieved by the android’s apparent lack of criticism, and his shoulders and grip on the steering wheel relax significantly.

“It’s reassuring to know that your driving isn’t as rash as your temper. Otherwise I imagine we’d have crashed several junctions ago.”

By the time they reach Lafayette Avenue, Gavin’s expended every ounce of restraint he has to keep from smashing the android’s smug fucking face through the car window.

He parks outside number sixteen and takes it all in. The neighbourhood is high-end; the kind of place you’d expect lawyers and doctors and artists and their spoiled, snot-nosed little kids to occupy. There are flashy gates sealing off the respective houses. Large houses, red-roofed and painted cream or beige, each with a pretty little garden, and there’s a neat row of maple trees that file off as far down the road as Gavin can see.

He hates places like this. They always make him feel uncomfortable, insignificant. Not good enough. As if having androids around, perfect and unerring, wasn’t enough.

“Now, Detective.” The RK900 steps out of the car, all long-legged grace, and it neatens the cuffs on its sleeves while it, too, peers around the neighbourhood. “As stated in the case file, Lydia Groves has recently suffered a traumatic encounter with an android. I believe it is best that you do the talking where possible. Human to human. Do you think you can handle that?”

Does he think he can–? “Don’t tell me how to do my fuckin’ job, tin can. You’re lucky I ain’t got a choice in this partner bullshit, else I’d have left you at the fucking precinct!”

The android hums, once and mildly, but the sound makes something in Gavin’s stomach turn to ice and drop. “Your temper may prove an issue, however,” it muses, almost to itself. “Perhaps it’s best if I question Ms. Groves after all.”

“Fuck you!” Gavin spits, before trying to rein in his temper. He’s only proving the plastic son of a bitch’s point. “You stay quiet and let me do my job. Say one fuckin’ word and I’ll be sending you back to the DPD in scraps.”

“Temper, Detective,” the RK900 reminds him coolly, as Gavin marches towards the gate of number sixteen. “We don’t want to traumatise the poor woman any further.”

Gavin buzzes the intercom a little harder than necessary, and he forces himself to cool down as the gate slides open and they make their way to the front door. He raps with the knocker, and they wait in silence until Lydia Groves opens the door.

She’s Caucasian, somewhere around the five-foot-eight bracket, red hair scraped back into a tight ponytail and sporting a green dress suit. There’s a ring of pearls around her neck. In his worn leather jacket and scruffy shoes, Gavin must look like a fucking sewer rat in comparison. He’s always felt a twinge of self-consciousness dealing with people like this, though it never lasts long these days, and he steels himself quickly.

“Ma’am. Detective Reed, Detroit Police,” Gavin raises his badge in greeting, more muscle-memory than courtesy as this point in his career. “I need to ask you a few questions about the incident last weekend, get some more information. Mind if we talk inside?”

“Yes, of course. Come in, Detective.” Ms. Groves casts a wary glance at Gavin’s companion before motioning for them to enter. “Captain Fowler mentioned someone would be here today. It’s a long drive from the station, so thank you for taking the time, I suppose.”

“Not a problem, ma’am.” Gavin looks around the house. As he’d expected; affluent, gold railing on the staircase, expensive décor and marble flooring. A breadwinner’s house. Workaholic, no kids. There’s a wedding band on Ms. Groves’s finger, but no spouse in sight.

“Coffee, Detective?”

“No, thanks,” Gavin answers, following as she leads them to the back of the house, into the living area. “You seem to have, uh… fixed everythin’ up pretty fast.”

“Yes, well, my neighbour’s a handyman. He was kind enough to do most of the repairs; windows, table, counters. Though the curtains and a lot of the china had to be replaced.,” Ms. Groves adds bitterly. “Those weren’t going to get fixed.”

The case file stated that the assault had been volatile, violent, with a fair amount of damage to the property’s kitchen. _Must’ve been quite the handyman_ , Gavin thinks, peering around at the pristine state of the open-plan area. There isn’t a single thing out of place.

Gavin takes a seat on the sofa, made of white leather and hard as shit. He notices that the RK900 remains near the doorway, a fair distance away. _Clever_ , Gavin has to admit. It’s close enough to gauge Ms. Groves’s answers and reactions, but far enough so as not to impose too much.

“Might I ask before we begin, Detective,” Ms. Groves says tentatively, shooting another glance at the android. “Is there a reason you have… _that_ with you? It can’t just, I don’t know, wait outside?”

“Sorry, ma’am. Standard procedure for all cases involving androids now. It’s gotta stay,” Gavin replies, more because he has a hunch that the fucking thing would refuse to leave, rather than for any concern for proper procedure. “It won’t bother us,” he adds.

“Please, just forget I’m here,” the RK900 says, tone insufferably polite. Gavin isn’t fooled, as it trains its gaze on him and something behind its eyes glints. “Detective Reed is more than capable of tackling the case at hand, I assure you.”

Bastard.

But Ms. Groves seems satisfied enough. “Well then, Detective. What in particular was not made clear in my first statement?”

Gavin flips out his notepad and glimpses towards the backdoor. “You said the android broke in through there, ma’am, but our officers were apparently unable to back-up any evidence of forced entry from that point.”

“Well, that can’t be right, surely,” Ms. Groves says incredulously. “The lock had been broken into. It was completely unusable! I had to get that replaced, as well.”

“The lock was broken, sure. But the latch at the top of the door there,” Gavin motions to it. Granted, the bolt is a flimsy-looking thing; delicate and painted gold to match the stair rails, but it’s in good working order. “Cops on the scene said there were signs that the back door was fully bolted from the inside when they arrived. Even if this android managed to pick the main lock or damage it enough to break in, that latch would’ve stopped ‘em from entering the residence, at least without making any noise. There’s not much chance that it could have gotten in from there without alerting your attention.”

“Oh. Oh, I see. I could have sworn… sworn it had gotten in through that way. It seemed the only possible explanation.”

“Are there any other ways in you can think of, ma’am? Were there any open windows, any other doors besides the entrance? It could’ve come from upstairs,” Gavin suggests. “Android’s don’t gotta worry about heights, after all.”

Ms. Groves is worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. Gavin can see her wringing her hands. She’s nervous. On edge. She’s either heavily traumatised, or she’s hiding something. “No,” she answers at last. “No, not that I can think of, Detective. It _must_ have come through the back door. I did have the television on quite loudly that night, while I was making dinner. So there’s a… a good chance I didn’t hear it break in.”

Gavin is not convinced. He asks more questions – whether Ms. Groves had recognised the android: she had. It belonged to her ex-husband; a ST300 model, female, a home assistant and receptionist, but when officers had gone to Mr. Groves’s workplace to question him, there had been no trace or information on the android.

He asks whether Ms. Groves knew why it had attacked her: she assumed it had developed errors in its software and become emotionally unstable after her and Mr. Groves had divorced. And emotional shock, Gavin presumes, remembering what Connor had said about Carlos Ortiz’s android five months back.

He asks whether the android had assaulted her instantly or attempted to speak with her beforehand: it had apparently attacked her on sight, and Ms. Groves managed to defend herself with whatever had been lying around the kitchen. She had suffered a wound on her arm; a long cut running the length of her forearm, though it wasn’t deep and Gavin doubted it would scar. She had apparently managed to fend the android off until it had fled.

When Gavin thanks her for the information, and he and the RK900 are returning to the car, he is still far from convinced.

“She’s lying.”

The RK900 raises a brow.

“What, you couldn’t fuckin’ tell?” Gavin scowls. “D’you not see her flunking her way through the last goddamn half hour? She’s lying,” he repeats firmly, opening the door and shifting into the driver’s seat. “It’s plain as a fuckin’ summer’s day. Her story, the whole fucking thing, it doesn’t add up. There’s something she ain’t tellin’ us.”

The RK900 hums as it joins him on the passenger’s side. “Impressive. I was half convinced you wouldn’t be able to see it. Pleasant, albeit surprising, to be proven so wrong.”

Gavin stares at it. “What?”

It gives him a smile which doesn’t quite meet its eyes. “Ms. Groves’s heartbeat was significantly elevated throughout your interrogation. When you asked your questions, she often glanced to her left before providing answers; a tell-tale sign of dishonesty. If someone looks to their right, they are recollecting memory. If they look to their left, they are almost certainly constructing a lie. You were also correct about the back door,” it adds. “As the latch was bolted, there is only a minor probability that the android could have broken in by that means without immediately catching Ms. Groves’s attention. And if that were the case, she would have had time to flee the kitchen and avoid that nasty gash on her arm.”

Gavin nods slowly, putting the pieces together. “But the lock,” he remembers. “It _was_ broken, from the outside. Jimmied from the looks of things. So how…” Gavin pauses, realising. “Unless the android wasn’t the one who broke it. Unless–”

“Ms. Groves broke it herself, in an attempt to lead us astray,” the RK900 finishes for him. “An astute observation, Detective.”

“Why the hell would she…” Gavin trails off. There’s no point in theorising any further, not with the limited information that they have. They needed more data, more evidence, and they’d need a warrant to search the ex-husband’s house.

“So how’d the android get in, then?” Gavin asks aloud before he can stop himself; a side-effect of detective work.

“Now that’s the real question, isn’t it,” the RK900 answers, gaze skimming over Ms. Groves’s house. After a moment, it turns its head to look at him again. “You ask very pertinent questions, Detective Reed. I must admit, I truly am impressed,” it repeats. “From your behaviour at the precinct and what I’ve heard from RK800 and Lieutenant Anderson, I didn’t expect this level of competence from you.”

Gavin drives back to the station, angry and fast and not signalling nearly as often as he should. On the one hand, he’s pretty sure he’s never been in a fouler mood; which only becomes fouler whenever he glimpses the conceited, smug fucking android in the seat beside him.

On the other, much smaller hand, if he stares at it for too long, Gavin starts to remember words like _impressive_ and _pleasant_ and _astute observation_ in that voice, and a flush consistently begins to creep up the back of his neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gavin might suck at being a nice guy, but I like to think he doesn't totally suck at being a detective.
> 
> This chapter's mainly just to get the plot started - there will be more douchebag/android bickering to come.


	4. Harder, better, faster, stronger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Daft Punk.

It’s been two days since their visit to Lydia Groves’s house, and they’re waiting on the warrant to search her ex-husband’s residence. Michael Groves is a renowned architect, having played a part in designing the infamous CyberLife Tower. They know he _has_ an android, though there’s little evidence – besides Ms. Groves’s own word – of it being the same ST300 model responsible for the assault.

It’s always the way with rich snobs and their superiority problems, Gavin snipes to himself. They always make it difficult for cops to do their damn jobs; thinking they’re liable to bypass the law and just be all-around assholes. Mr. Groves was fighting them tooth and nail over the search warrant, and because of his nice, cushy place in society, he was winning.

“With the way things are in the city, our people downstairs are far behind schedule. It’ll take a few weeks before your warrant’s approved, and even then, Michael Groves isn’t being as accommodating as we’d like,” Fowler explains, not sparing Gavin a glance as he types furiously on his keypad. “We’re playing the waiting game for now, so in the meantime, you and the android work some smaller cases.”

“You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me,” Gavin gapes at his superior. “Fowler, c’mon, you said just this one case! Now I gotta run around the city with the plastic cop like tweedle dum and fuckin’ dee? This is bullshit–”

“I don’t have time for your attitude, Reed,” Fowler snaps, holding up a hand to stop Gavin in his tracks. “It’s likely that we’ll wear Groves down enough to approve a warrant, so it’ll just be a few goddamn weeks. Now shut the fuck up and get out of my office. And it’s _Captain_!”

Gavin skulks back to his desk, seething, wanting to yell and curse and punch something just to release some of the frustration. He ends up throwing his fist against the edge of the desk, breaking the skin along his knuckles. It’ll sting all day, but he doesn’t give a shit.

“Ouch.” Chen comes to perch beside his terminal, grinning at his bitter expression. “Take it the warrant’s still pending, then. Which means…” Gavin sees her peer across the bullpen, and doesn’t have to follow her gaze to know she’s looking at the RK900. “You’re stuck with that plastic prick as your partner for a while longer. Double ouch.”

“That thing ain’t my partner,” Gavin grits out from behind his teeth. “This is such bullshit.”

“Total bullshit,” Chen agrees. “First Connor, now this, huh? Fowler’ll probably be replaced by plastic before long. The boss realises that, right? Now that they’ve got their equal rights, they’ll be taking over the whole fucking precinct,” she adds. “We’ll all be outta jobs if Fowler keeps letting them in here.”

Gavin hears Anderson snort from over near his desk, and turns his head to glare at the man.

“You’re a fuckin’ schmooze, Chen.” Hank’s reclined back in his chair and shooting them both a knowing look. “You realise that Fowler’s makin’ a pretty smart move, don’t cha? He ain’t letting androids take over our fuckin’ jobs. He’s–”

“He’s establishing a public relationship between humans and androids; proving to the city that we can work together harmoniously,” Connor says for him, from his usual place opposite Anderson. “He has no intention of replacing anyone.”

“See?” Hank says pointedly. “You ain’t losing your job, Chen, so stop whining.”

“That’s such horseshit,” Chen mutters, as Hank and Connor return to their work. “By letting them work here, Fowler’s just proving that the rest of us are outdated. Soon enough, everyone’ll start to see it. Plastics are faster, stronger. Smarter. Us flesh and blood cops don’t stand a fucking chance.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.” Gavin rubs a hand over his face. “Can’t believe this shit.”

They’re silent for a while, Chen sat above him and Gavin staring blankly into space. It’s what he’s always been afraid of; losing his job, his career up in flames, because of an android. Something a thousand times better than him, like Chen said; faster, stronger, smarter, with no need to waste time drinking or eating or taking a shit or waiting to recover from injuries or having to redo reports because you rushed over them and made a mistake somewhere. Fuck.

“So what are you gonna do with it?” Chen kicks Gavin’s side with her boot and gestures towards the corridor leading to the archive room. The RK900 is still talking with Ben; its hands laced behind its back, and the same calm and collected expression on its face as always.

Gavin grimaces. “I don’t have a fuckin’ clue.”

“If it were the old days, I’d say stage an accident. Fry its circuits in maintenance, maybe,” Chen smirks. “Maybe that’d get it off your back.”

Gavin manages a weak scoff in reply, but… saying shit like that just doesn’t feel good anymore. Doesn’t feel right. Five months ago, he wouldn’t have batted a fucking eyelash. But since the peace marches and the camps and the unprovoked shootings on TV, Chen’s talk of frying androids’ circuits or anything similar makes something in Gavin’s stomach curl in discomfort. Not that he’d admit it to her. Chen’s about the closest thing to a friend that Gavin has around here.

“Oh, shit, here it comes.” Chen hops off the desk and shoots Gavin a grin, wide and shitty. “Good luck, Reed.”

“Fuck off.”

Chen retreats to her own desk. Gavin braces himself as he hears the RK900 approach him.

“From your expression, Detective, I gather our search warrant hasn’t gone through,” it discerns. “Mr. Groves has decided to remain uncooperative, then.”

Gavin grunts an affirmative, keeping his attention fixed intently on his terminal.

“A pity, but unsurprising,” the android continues. “Still, there’s nothing stopping us from looking into other matters in the meantime.” Gavin’s jacket, flung over his chair when he’d first arrived, is tugged out from under his weight in one, swift movement. “With me.”

“Wha–” Gavin forcibly spins his chair around, until his legs are no longer crushed under the desk. He scowls incredulously up at the android, who is holding out his jacket in one hand. “No way, fuck you! I’m not goin’ anywhere with you, you plastic fuck.”

“Your company is as undesirable to me as mine is to you, I assure you,” the RK900 says dryly. “But as it stands, I have been assigned as your partner, and therefore we must remain together. I received a report of a suspected burglary downtown. You are coming with me.”

It turns on its heel and strides towards the exit, Gavin’s jacket slung over its shoulder like a lure for him to follow. And, fists clenched and cursing heavily under his breath, Gavin does.

***

“Can you tell us anything else? Hair colour, eye colour? Clothes, voices? Anything you can remember.”

The store manager is fucking hopeless as far as eyewitnesses go. Gavin would have expected him to be a little less useless, considering it was _his_ store that had been robbed. But apparently not.

“Anything at all, sir.”

“No… No, sorry, Detective,” the man answers, shaking his head. Absolutely useless. He looks it, too. Ruddy-cheeked, overweight, balding, sweaty. He’s got all the signs of either a Red Ice user or a porn-addict, Gavin thinks to himself. Maybe both. “It all happened sorta fast. I saw them turn right down the street, though.”

“Right down the street,” Gavin repeats, jotting it down in his notepad. “Cool. That’s a real help.” It isn’t whatsoever. Gavin resists the urge to roll his eyes, and he swears he can even feel the fucking _android_ losing its patience, though its calm façade is giving nothing away.

It’s been pacing slowly around the store, taking in the damage. It moves like Connor, Gavin’s noticed; all restless energy and furrowed brow, though it’s much less fidgety than its older model.

“So what’d they take again? Some tech, videos, cables,” Gavin lists to the manager, flipping the notepad shut and storing it and his pen back inside his jacket. “Anythin’ else?”

“Uh… some old bio-components. Second hand. I think there were–” The manager breaks off and blanches when he realises what he’s said. He eyes the RK900 in fear, scrambling for an explanation, “I mean, we had ‘em left over from before. I know everyone was meant to send bio-components back to CyberLife since the whole android revolution, but we just kinda had them laying around, so we, uh… we just had ‘em, we were gonna send ‘em back–”

“Which components?” The RK900 has perked up, coming to stand a little closer.

“Uh, w-what?”

“The components that were stolen,” it asks patiently, though its gaze hardens as though to scare the guy into confessing. Gavin feels a small, amused smile tugging at the corner of his mouth at the manager’s horrified expression, but he forces it down. “Was there a central processor or a pump regulator among them?”

“I, um… I think there might’ve been a central processor, sure,” the manager answers, not sounding sure at all. “I’d check the CCTV, but like I said when you guys came in, there are a lot of blind spots on the cameras, and we don’t really–”

“Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Forster,” the RK900 interrupts, giving a tight-lipped smile that only makes the manager pale even further. “I believe we’ll have your thieves by the end of the afternoon. And then you can get back to sending your second-hand components to CyberLife, as per the new legislation.”

It strides outside without sparing the manager another glance, and Gavin follows after giving the tech store one final glimpse-over.

He joins the android on the sidewalk, where it’s peering down the road in concentration, taking in shop after shop that runs the length of the block.

“The hell was that about, tin can?”

“All central processors are linked in some manner,” it answers. “Similar software. Though not all are the same, they share at least some coding. I should be able to track it, provided it’s the same model that was missing from–”

“Missing from the shelves at the back, yeah I saw. Model PB600, serial number 2208n,” Gavin cuts across it, peering back at the store. He can make out the manager inside, face even redder as he rages at his staff now that Gavin and the android are gone. “Shitty manager if he can’t even keep track of his own stuff,” Gavin mutters.

He looks back to see the RK900 tilting its head at him. Its expression hasn’t changed, but there’s something like pleasant surprise in its eyes; the same kind of surprise as outside Lydia Groves’s house, when it had called Gavin _impressive_ of all things.

“So?” Gavin prompts irritably, just to stop the fucking thing from looking at him like that. “Can you track it or what?”

“As long as it’s within range,” the RK900 answers, gaze focusing back to the road. “Though I doubt the thieves could have gotten far without being caught. There is a high probability they’ll be hiding out nearby.”

While the android does its thing, Gavin wonders vaguely why the hell it’s equipped with the ability to track down random components. Then he quickly remembers what the RK series was built for: field work. Detection, analysis, negotiating, and of course, combat, which means a high risk of getting injured. Gavin supposes it’s a smart move, then, giving them the ability to scout out components in case their own become damaged. _Self-preservation_ , he adds to himself dryly; _a bitch for humans, a walk in the park for androids_. If a human cop gets shot in his heart, it’s not like he can just go and get a new one.

“Congress Street.” The RK900 nods to itself, then strides off in the road’s direction. “Come along, Detective.”

Gavin blinks at the short amount of time it had taken to locate the component, before scowling after the android. “Hey, I don’t take orders from you, asshole,” he argues, falling into step beside it. It’s difficult to keep up; its legs are _long_ , and it walks with purpose, weaving through the crowd of people out and about for their lunchtime shopping. “I've been doing this for almost fifteen years, and you’ve been alive for, what, five, six months?”

“Correct.” The android side-eyes him, a complacent curl at one side of its mouth. “And how gracious of you to acknowledge that I am indeed alive. You’ve certainly come a long way in these last four days, Detective. This is promising news if we’re to continue working together.”

“Can it, dickwad,” Gavin bites out, realising what he’d said and feeling a flush of regret spread up his neck. “Slip of the fuckin’ tongue, alright? You might have your rights and your laws and whatever the fuck else, but you’re still made of plastic and wires, and that don’t count as _alive_ in my book–”

He almost walks right into the android’s back, as it turns the corner and abruptly stops outside one of the apartment buildings.

Gavin manages to sidestep it in time. “What the fuck–”

“Woodward apartments. The central processor is on the eighth floor,” the RK900 explains, “hopefully along with our thieves and the rest of Mr. Forster’s stolen goods.” It takes one nimble step back, and gestures for Gavin to enter first. “After you, Detective Reed. You have been doing this for longer, after all.”

Gavin mutters a string of curses under his breath, and shoulders open the door to the lobby. It’s a shabby place; run-down and uncared for, with the wallpaper starting to fade and peel, and furniture that must have been there since the nineties.

Behind the front desk, the security guard peers up from his magazine. A relatively young guy, probably not much younger than Gavin, African-American, ankles crossed where they rest on the desk and a bored expression on his face. The security card hanging around his neck reads ‘Bjorn Thompson’. “Can I help you, gentlemen?”

“Mr. Thompson,” Gavin pulls out his badge and approaches, “Detective Reed, Detroit Police. We have reason to believe a group of guys on the eighth floor were involved in a store robbery earlier today. You see anything?”

Bjorn closes his eyes and groans. “You know what? I fuckin’ knew those kids were up to no good,” he mutters to himself, before giving Gavin’s companion a wary glance. “Shit, you’re not gonna, uh… use that thing on me are you, man? I’m not involved or anything, you can check the cameras–”

“Relax,” Gavin says to him, shooting the android a pointed glare in the hopes that it will somehow tone down the intimidating aura that seems to follow it fucking everywhere. “We just wanna know what you saw. The perps still here?”

Bjorn nods. “Yeah, yeah, they haven’t left since this morning. They came back here at around, I dunno, eleven maybe? They all had bags with them,” he adds. “Thought it was suspicious as all hell, but I never, uh, really bother them or ask questions, y’know? Their little ringleader’s harassed me before, and I just wanna do my job without causing any trouble.”

“Well, I doubt you’ll be gettin' any more trouble after today. They stole some expensive tech from a store around the way,” Gavin tells him, watching as the RK900 moves closer to the elevator. “We’ll be takin’ them in. So if you don’t mind?”

“Thank fucking Christ,” Bjorn sighs, pressing a button to allow the elevator doors to slide open. “Be my guest, man, seriously. The less I see of those assholes, the better.”

Gavin nods his thanks. “How many of ‘em are there?” he asks as an afterthought, walking to join the android at the doors.

“Three, and all human. They’re pretty young so I think you two’ll be able to handle them,” Bjorn adds, giving Gavin and his companion another once-over. “Good luck.”

The doors slide closed and the elevator begins to ascend. As it does, Gavin makes a quick call to Ben, requesting a single squad car to wait out front so they can escort the perps to the station. Gavin’s car is still parked near the tech store; he doesn’t want to cause commotion by dragging three juvenile criminals across the block.

Shoving his phone into the back pocket of his jeans, Gavin glances sideways at the RK900. “You even armed?” he asks, as the elevator stops and they step out into the corridor. Bjorn had mentioned that the perps were young, and young usually meant stupid; it was likely that the trio wouldn’t come without some sort of force.

“I carry an authorised weapon, yes.”

Gavin grunts his approval, taking out his phone again when it beeps. “Well, Ben’s on his way. Backup’s comin’ too, just in case.” He looks up and down the hallway. “So which apartment is it?”

The android stills as it scans the hallway, locating the component. “The door at the end.”

They stop outside, Gavin moving to one side of the door and the RK900 mirroring his position. Gavin’s about to knock, when the android closes its hand around his wrist to stop him. It’s standing stock-still and frowning, as though it can see something beyond the wall.

“What?” he hisses, wrenching his hand back from its grip.

“I can hear clips being loaded,” it warns. “They appear to be armed.”

“Shit,” Gavin mutters. “Fucking manager didn’t say anythin’ about them using guns. What a prick.” He draws his gun, and the RK900 does the same. It steps back to allow Gavin space, and he arranges himself to kick down the door. Out of habit, he glances briefly at the android to make sure it's ready, then he moves.

The door crashes open on the first try, the lock instantly giving way and one of the hinges breaking completely. “DPD! Hands in the air!”

The three perps – all sporting caps and heavy coats, clearly preparing for their second robbery of the day – scramble madly. The one loading the guns at the table grasps blindly for a pistol, but the RK900 has already fired a warning shot between the kid’s hand and the weapon. Gavin grabs the nearest perp and pins him to the wall, knee pressed into his spine.

“Get the fuck away from the table! Don’t make me ask twice,” Gavin warns the one nearest the weapons, who is staring, terrified, down the barrel of the android’s gun. He does as Gavin orders, shuffling into the centre of the apartment. “Get on the fuckin’ floor, hands above your head!”

Gavin wrestles the kid he has a hold of onto the floor as well, keeping pressure on his spine while keeping the gun trained on the third perp in the room. While Gavin zip-ties the kid’s hands together, and the RK900 does the same to the second perp, Gavin sees the remaining one’s gaze flit to the window.

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare–!”

The kid bolts, and Gavin doesn’t have the time or room to fire a warning shot from his position on the floor. The perp covers his head and crashes through the window, landing on the fire escape outside.

“Motherfucker!” Gavin turns his gaze sharply to the android, “What the fuck are you waitin’ for, huh?! Get after him!”

With the second perp tied and laid out against the floorboards, the RK900 darts forward and vaults out the window just as Ben and two other officers rush into the apartment.

“Shit, Gavin,” Ben huffs, gun in hand and watching the android disappear up the fire escape. “Thought you said this was a simple robbery bust.”

“Yeah, well, the bastard store owner didn’t think to mention they were armed,” Gavin grits out, hauling the first perp to his feet while Officer Brown and Person move to grab the second. “Take these two to the patrol car,” he orders, handing the kid over to Ben and hastening towards the broken window.

Gavin jumps out, clearing the gap between the apartment and the fire escape. He takes off in a run when he catches sight of the RK900, hard on the perp’s tail as they sprint across the neighbouring rooftop. Gavin climbs the two flights of stairs, makes it onto the roof, and has a second of panic as he watches the perp leap onto the next building. The gap isn’t small, and it’s a long drop. The kid makes it, and Gavin’s breath catches in his throat as the RK900 jumps after him, diving into a roll to break its fall and continuing the chase effortlessly.

“Holy fuckin’ _shit_.” Gavin’s always thought he was in peak physical condition, but watching the android charge over the rooftops, agile and faultless in its movements, would put even the fittest officers to shame. _Faster, stronger, smarter_ , Chen’s voice taunts in the back of his head, and Gavin clenches his teeth as he continues the pursuit.

He catches up to them just as the RK900 grabs the perp, shoving him against one of the rooftop’s large air-circulation vents.

“Told you not to run, asshole,” Gavin spits out while the android ties the kid’s hands behind his back. His pride withers a little as he leans his hands on his knees, catching his breath while the RK900 stands tall and unaffected as ever. “You can kiss your rights goodbye, makin’ us chase after you like we’re on fuckin’ CSI Miami or something. Shoulda just shot you,” he adds, petty but purely out of sympathy for his aching lungs and legs.

The RK900 keeps a firm grip on the perp’s wrists, and jerks its head towards the door leading inside. “After you, Detective.”

Gavin wants nothing more than to collapse on the rooftop until the blood’s stopped pounding in his ears. But whatever remains of his pride has him leading the way towards the stairwell, trying to get his breathing back under control.

“There was no reason for you to pursue me,” the android says, and Gavin knows that what little of his temper is left is about to snap. “You ordered _me_ to go, after all. I expected you to return downstairs with Officer Collins. I was perfectly capable–”

“Okay, shitbird.” Gavin rounds on the android, ignoring the fearful-looking perp in favour of grabbing the lapels of the RK900’s jacket. “Listen the fuck up. You don’t get a fucking say in what I do or don’t do, you got that? You ain’t my partner and you ain’t in charge of me. You’re a fuckin’ _machine_ , so when I order you to do something, you damn well better do it, and don’t question my fucking decisions.”

The android looks down at him coolly, grasp still firmly around the perp’s wrists. “Your heart-rate is quite elevated, Detective, and your breathing is agitated. I only say there was no reason to pursue me to bear your wellbeing in mind.” It leans closer, calm and tall and looming, and grants Gavin that same cold, fictitious smile it had in Fowler’s office the first time they met. “I recommend increasing your weekly gym visitations, if you wish to keep up with me next time.”

It takes the perp and leaves Gavin on the rooftop, mortified and silent and _seething_.

And to top the day off, when they return to the station, Chen takes one look at Gavin’s face and cackles loudly enough to rouse Anderson’s attention.

The Lieutenant looks between Gavin and the RK900, and _grins_. “So how’d the first job go?”

“I thought it went rather well.” The android aims a self-satisfied expression Gavin’s way. “Though we’ve established that Detective Reed’s fitness levels are not quite up to par.”

Hank’s laughter haunts Gavin for the rest of the afternoon, which is spent filling out paperwork to cover the equipment stolen from the tech store. Each time he looks up and catches the RK900’s eye from across the desks, he makes sure to glare as though his very life depends on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm heading to Pride tomorrow, so the next update will be Monday at the earliest.
> 
> Thanks everyone for the support on this so far - nice to know I'm not burning in this dumpster fire of a ship alone <3
> 
>  [tumblr.](https://imogengotdrunk.tumblr.com/)


	5. In your defence

As Fowler had warned, they have to wait a few weeks at the least before a warrant to search Mr. Groves’s house can be authorised. There are too many cases, too much going on these days to get anything done quickly. Gavin’s always hated going through the proceedings, all the pointless motions and the waiting around. Waiting around isn’t his style, he’s too impatient. _Hot-headed_ , Chen’s always called him. He used to take that as a compliment, but now at thirty-six, he’s pretty sure it’s meant to be an insult.

And on top of it all, now he has a fucking android on his back every moment he’s at work. He should’ve seen it coming, having watched Connor bust Anderson’s ass when they first got partnered together. It was all about efficiency when it came to androids. No room for time-wasting or pleasantries or excuses.

The RK900 was no different, and Gavin had been living in his own personal hell.

His partner – though Gavin was still reluctant to sink so low as to use the term – was as hard-assed as it looked. After the robbery, they’d worked together on a few smaller cases in the meantime, and while the android was clearly every ounce as capable as Connor was in the field, the shitbag irritated Gavin to no end. Not that he’d expected anything else.

One thing that he hadn’t expected, however, was the amount of fucking _backtalk_ he got from it. Now, Gavin had had his fair share of sass from Connor; the android could hold his own, of that Gavin had no doubt. But the RK900 was on a whole new level of prick, and Gavin could barely get a word in edgeways. He insulted it, threatened it, _ignored_ it when none of that seemed to work. And each and every time, the android had a retort; some blasé remark or deathly quick comeback that left Gavin feeling like a scolded mutt, shrinking down on the floor with his tail between his legs.

So when Hank innocently asks, “How’s the whole partner thing workin’ out for you?” on Tuesday afternoon, Gavin is about ready to set the bullpen on fire and let himself perish in the fucking flames.

He scowls towards the breakroom, where the RK900 is heading. He takes in the fitted jacket, the long legs, that fucking walk, before the android disappears around the corner. “Don’t be cute, Anderson. You know damn well how it’s going.”

Hank chuckles, and Gavin resists the urge to pour what’s left of his lukewarm coffee onto the man’s shoes. “Yeah, that sounds about right. Connor tells me you’ve been gettin’ your ass handed to you. Shame your desk’s the other side of the bullpen,” he adds. “I’d pay good money to see your ego taken down another peg or two, maybe while that android bends you over the desk again. That made my fuckin’ day.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Gavin regrets coming to spend his lunch break perched on Anderson’s desk. Though ever since Connor officially joined them, they’ve developed a working relationship of sorts. There’s no question that Connor’s made Hank more agreeable; more pleasant to be around, more positive. _Easier to talk to_ , Gavin adds to himself. And though they’ve never particularly gotten along, Gavin used to respect Hank, before– well, just before. Before the drinking and the attitude. Now there’s a mutual understanding, a level of tolerance between the two of them.

Gavin would never call them friends, but he supposes they’re not quite as far away from it as they used to be.

“How the hell d’you deal with it every day?” Gavin finds himself asking, glancing to where Connor is speaking with another officer near the cells. “I’m losin’ my fucking mind.”

“You get used to it, trust me. And your new partner doesn’t seem so bad from what I’ve seen of him. Chris says he’s all right, and Connor seems to like him.”

“That ain’t saying much,” Gavin mutters bitterly. “Connor likes everyone. For chrissake, he likes _you_ of all people,” he adds, because he can’t help but rib a little. “And you’re a fuckin’ scumbag.”

“Oh yeah, yeah, look who’s fuckin’ talking.” Anderson shoves at Gavin’s thigh with his elbow, turning back to his terminal to resume whatever file he was looking over before lunch. “You’re gonna have to suck it up, Reed. This is the way of the world now; androids and humans workin’ together.”

“No fuckin’ way.” Gavin slides off the desk and back onto his feet, popping the base of his spine as he stretches backwards. “Soon as this case is over, I’m done workin’ with plastic pricks. I am never setting foot in the same room as that asshole ever again. I don’t care what Fowler says, he can kiss my fuckin’ ass.”

“I’ll tell him you said that,” Anderson calls after him, chuckling as Gavin stalks towards the breakroom to refill his mug.

Another step away from rounding the corner, Gavin stills when he hears his name mentioned from one of the tables.

“Got stuck with Gavin, huh? Yeesh.” That was definitely Chris. “It’s well-known that he’s never taken kindly to androids. Don’t think anyone’s ever quite worked out what his problem is. Probably any number of things.”

“Detective Reed’s reasons are his own.” The RK900. Gavin’s seen it and Chris speak a few times before. Chris is popular with everyone in the DPD; no one’s ever had a bad word to say about him. New people always seem to gravitate towards him, and it appeared androids were no exception. “I wouldn’t wish to pry.”

“Yeah, that’s probably a smart move. Gavin’s not really the most forthcoming guy around here. Think even Chen gets sick of him most days. I’ve never worked a proper case with him, but I hear he’s…” Chris seems to hesitate as he searches for the right word. “I dunno. Difficult, I guess? Hostile? I reckon you’ve probably worked with Reed more in the last week than I have in seven years, so I can’t exactly say for certain. And I’d hate to talk about a fellow officer behind his back, but from what I can tell, no one really enjoys working with him in the field.”

Something, somewhere deep in Gavin’s gut, clenches and turns hot while he eavesdrops. He knows what most of the DPD thinks of him, and he’s put little effort in to change that. He’s arrogant, and unfriendly, and yeah, he’s _difficult_ , he fucking _knows_ that he’s difficult. But there’s something about hearing it in Chris’s voice that really nails the coffin.

“Detective Reed can be…” and Gavin feels his shoulders tense up as he braces himself for the RK900’s reply, “antagonistic, it’s true. I can understand why a human may not particularly enjoy working with him.”

There’s a beat of silence, and Gavin’s just about ready to storm inside and savour the guilty look on Chris’s face while he refills his coffee, but then the android continues.

“But he’s also a good detective. I’ve found his skill and perseverance in the field to be most impressive. He is aggressive and temperamental, there is no question. But while his attitude may not be ideal for an accommodating partnership, I feel fortunate to have been paired with someone of his clear capabilities. So I believe I must defend him,” it adds, its tone taking on a slight edge, “in this area, at least.”

“Shit,” Chris laughs, “Never thought I’d see the day where someone defends Gavin fucking Reed. You really must be an advanced model, huh.”

The rest of the conversation filters away, as Gavin returns to his desk with an empty coffee cup and weak knees and suddenly feeling like the world’s shifted upside-down. He tries to focus on his terminal, but the words on the screen become intelligible shapes in front of his eyes, and there’s a bitter, _sheepish_ taste in the back of his mouth.

When Chen knocks him on the shoulder, he’s gotten absolutely no work done since he sat down. “Hey, Reed, I’m headin’ home. Thought I’d check in before I left.”

“Hm,” Gavin grunts in reply.

“Where’s your partner, huh?” He notices Chen’s gaze scouring the bullpen. She grins at his sour expression, “What, you finally drive that plastic piece of shit away? ‘Bout time, right? Still think Fowler had a brain seizure, thinking it was a good idea to put you two together–”

“Don’t call it that.”

Chen blinks. “What? Call who what?”

“The android, don’t call it that.”

There’s silence for a few seconds, and then Chen snorts and moves to lean against his desk. “What, did we decide on somethin’ better than piece of shit?” she jeers. “Plastic asshole? Plastic prick? Plastic–”

“Chen, shut the fuck up.” Gavin bites it out with all the shame and the anger he’s suddenly feeling. He turns pointedly back to his screen to stop himself from getting up in her face. “Just go home.”

She grabs her bag and leaves, calling him an asshole under hear breath. Gavin stays hunched at his terminal, pretending to read the files while the conversation replays again and again and again in his mind. _I also think he’s a good detective… skill and perseverance in the field… I feel fortunate to have been paired with someone of his clear capabilities… I believe I must defend him, in this area at least._

Sharp footsteps get closer. “Detective Reed.”

Gavin glances up, and feels his jaw clench uncomfortably. “What the fuck do you want?”

The RK900 holds out a fresh cup of coffee; dark and steaming and just the way Gavin likes it. Of course it fucking was; androids never did anything by halves. “You skipped lunch,” it offers as an explanation. “And caffeine seems to put you in a more agreeable mood. So for everyone’s sake, I thought I might as well take the liberty.”

Gavin accepts the cup, places it down near his mouse. “Don’t expect a thank you. Fuck off.”

The android, unaffected as ever by his attitude, moves to its own desk to resume its work. Gavin makes the coffee last for the next twenty minutes, taking savouring sips here and there as he finally manages to focus on the reports in his inbox.

When the cup’s empty, Gavin peers across to the twin desk. Hesitates. Then steels himself. “Thanks.”

The RK900 meets his gaze. Its eyes are narrowed, curious and icy and– not grey, Gavin realises suddenly. Blue. They’re Blue.

“You’re welcome, Detective,” it answers, a calm, crisp note to its voice that all of a sudden doesn’t piss Gavin off quite as much as usual, and they each return to their respective tasks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The little coffee exchange at the end is inspired by [Donlemefo's](http://donlemefo.tumblr.com/) artwork: this [comic](http://donlemefo.tumblr.com/post/175352823918/) here.
> 
> Check them out, they're a RK900/Gavin shipper as well as an incredible artist.


	6. R.K

Something… changes. Gavin doesn’t know how the hell else to put it. After that afternoon, something just changes.

The android’s still a nasty piece of work. It’s still smug and shitty and pedantic and conceited, and it seems to go out of its way to tear Gavin a new one every fucking chance it gets. _That_ hasn’t changed. What seems to have changed, Gavin is slowly noticing, is that he’s starting to _enjoy_ it.

There are few people in the precinct who can match Gavin toe-to-toe; who can face down his shit-talk and throw it straight back in his face. He’s pretty sure Chen and Anderson are among the only ones who’ve ever been like that, but even then, it’s never felt like _this_. It’s never sparked this stupid, fucking nerve in Gavin’s stomach that starts to simmer and froth and tug in anticipation whenever he sits down at his desk first thing in the morning and waits to see how things go from there.

“Good morning, Detective Reed.”

“Yeah, mornin’.”

“Interesting choice of cologne. Are you trying to overpower the entire office? Or do you hope that the scent is strong enough to ensure that no one comes within a meter’s radius of you for the remainder of the day?”

“Oh, yeah, says you. D’you think your fuckin’ collar’s high enough? You don’t wanna make it higher, hide the rest of that shit excuse for a face?”

“You’re deflecting. Interesting. If you wished to divert attention away from your own shortcomings, then I must disappoint you. That cologne does anything but.”

“Prick.”

“Deflecting, Detective.”

“Absolute, fuckin’ prick.”

“Coffee?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Gavin knows he’s smiling. He’s been doing a lot more of that lately. People in the office are beginning to look more concerned day by day.

Apart from Anderson. Hank’s shit-eating grin just keeps getting bigger and bigger every time Gavin catches his eye. And Connor looks pleased by Gavin’s apparent development with his younger model, though it’s hard to tell with Connor these days; since he moved in with Anderson, he always looks pleased. Gavin’s never quite worked out what’s going on between the two of them, and he feels weird asking. Though if he had to hazard a guess, their relationship probably isn’t as professional as they let on around the station. Gavin knows he would’ve been freaked out by that prospect once upon a time, but seeing Anderson slowly getting his shit back together and Connor’s stupid little smiles around the bullpen, he honestly wishes the best of fucking luck to the two of them.

Shit, he’s getting soft.

The RK900 returns with Gavin’s coffee. It’s dark and bitter and _perfect_ , and Gavin feels his morning cravings and headache ease with the first glorious sip.

“Hey, we worked out this warrant bullshit yet? It’s been, what, over two weeks now? Those assholes downstairs are taking their fuckin’ time.”

The android hums, typing quickly and precisely on its keyboard. “I checked in with Captain Fowler yesterday afternoon. The warrant still hasn’t been approved, though I doubt it will take much longer. Officer Miller has just closed a case, so I expect ours will now take precedence.”

“Can’t believe this shit. I get that things in the city have been crazy lately, but this is fuckin’ pushing it. Nearly three weeks waiting on a fuckin’ search warrant,” Gavin mutters, although the blissful taste of the coffee softens his tone somewhat.

“Mr. Groves is a man of importance, don’t forget. A renowned individual in the field of architecture. And considering his reluctance in allowing us to investigate his home,” the android points out, “the fact that we’re getting the warrant at all is fortunate. I believe we can forgive the wait.” It offers Gavin a thin and ironic smile. “Patience is a virtue, Detective. You’re lacking quite a few already, so that is one you unfortunately cannot afford to squander.”

“He has a point, Detective Reed,” Connor remarks in passing. He manages to sidestep the kick Gavin aims for his shin.

“Get fucked, Connor.” Gavin glares across the desk at the still-smiling RK900. “You can get fucked, too, tin can.”

“Finish your coffee, Detective. It’s far easier to tolerate you when you do.”

Gavin snickers into his cup, already feeling the shitty six AM wake up and the rushed breakfast and the downpour of rain outside fade into the past.

Chen walks into the bullpen by seven thirty, shoots Gavin a look when she glances between him and his companion. She’s still ratty about his attitude on Friday, and she’s been avoiding him. Usually it would piss Gavin off – Chen’s more often than not the only person he can stand to be around for extended periods – but he’s suddenly started to realise what an asshole she is. Gavin knows he’s an asshole too. That’s just a given at this point. But something about listening to Chen shit all over everything, their work, their co-workers, human and androids alike, suddenly just doesn’t… sound fun anymore. It doesn’t sit right with him.

So Gavin’s hardly sorry when Chen saunters by his desk without a word. He faces his terminal instead, glances up at the android opposite him, and is suddenly very conscious about something that should have come up in conversation on day fucking one.

“You even got a name?”

The RK900 peers up at him. “What do you call me to everybody else?”

“Asshole. Shitbird. Sometimes self-righteous prick, if the situation calls for it. Gotta switch it up now and then, y’know. Gets boring, otherwise.”

The android raises an eyebrow in amusement. Its eyes look far less icy when it does. “Not a particularly imaginative range. But given that I’ve become well accustomed to your lack of creativity, I suppose it’s the best I could have hoped for,” it muses. “But in answer to your question, no. I wasn’t given a name when I was activated.”

“What, it isn’t ‘Connor mark two’ or somethin’? ‘Upgraded Connor’? ‘The sequel of Connor’?”

It chuckles. Honest to God _chuckles_ , and Gavin is so taken aback for a moment that his coffee almost slips from his hold. He places it down onto the safe surface of the desk.

“Seriously, though. No name at all? You gotta give me somethin’ else to go on besides asshole, shitbird and prick. That kind of language could get me suspended.”

It chuckles again. Gavin can’t imagine Connor chuckling, but the RK900’s is a soft and husky sound that makes Gavin’s toes curl for a second. Only a second.

“I’m sure the precinct will weep at your absence, should your suspension come about. But that doesn’t change the fact that I have no name,” it says. “Only my model identification, RK900, and my serial number, 31–”

“R.K,” Gavin blurts out, and the android tilts its head in question. “R.K ain’t bad. It’s part of your ID, right? Like a nickname. Plus it’s not a fuckin’ mouthful like ‘RK900, serial number whatever’.”

It seems to be considering, LED spinning yellow. It’s silent for long enough that Gavin starts to feel uneasy. He’s about to speak, brush off the idea with some joke or insult or front of uncaring like he usually does in these kinds of situations. But then…

“That sounds agreeable,” the android – _R.K_ , says at last, giving Gavin a small nod of acceptance. “It might be good, to have a name. It would certainly make communication easier. And lessen the risk of you becoming suspended, of course.” And then it smiles. Not a shitty, dry attempt at a smile either. An actual, honest to fucking God _smile_.

Connor’s smiles, as twitchy and awkward as they are, have always had a small scrap of charm to them. The kind of charm that comes with watching a baby deer trying to walk for the first time. The smile that R.K gives him, a small and handsome curl at one side his mouth, is plain sinful. It's wicked, and teasing, and so unexpected that Gavin’s elbow suddenly slips off the desk from where it had been supporting his weight.

He clears his throat, and pointedly turns back to face the documents on his terminal. “Cool. Now shut the fuck up and let me work.”

Gavin hears a hum of agreement, and tries to ignore the flush making its way from his neck to his ears. “Indeed, Detective.”

A few minutes later, Gavin’s curiosity gets the better of him again.

“What d’you call _me_ to everyone else, then?”

“I call you Detective Reed,” R.K answers, gaze trained on his own terminal. “Though I have changed your name in my facial recognition processor to ‘asshole’,” he adds casually, out of nowhere, and Gavin splutters into his coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the process of moving house and the next few updates might be sporadic, just to let all you fabulous people know.
> 
> Still loving writing this, who'd have thought I would ship such garbage one day <3


	7. Communication

_\-----------------------------_ Sunday 6th May, 2039 (AM)  _\-----------------------------  
_                                                                       

 **RK900 #313 248 317 -87** **  
**_(07:30)_  
Not gracing the DPD with your presence today, Detective?

 **Gavin  
**_(07:41)_  
fck off its sunday

 **RK900 #313 248 317 -87  
**_(07:42)_  
I’m aware.

 _(07:42)_  
My question still stands.

 **Gavin**  
_(07:44)_  
its my day off prick, leave me alone

 _(07:59)_  
how the fck you get my number??

 **RK900 #313 248 317 -87  
**_(08:00)_  
It’s standard protocol. I have all officers’  
personal numbers in my database in case  
of emergencies.

 **Gavin**  
_(08:02)_  
me not comin to work on a sunday isn’t  
an emergency dickwad I was asleep

 **RK900 #313 248 317 -87**  
_(08:03)_  
I apologise, Detective.

 _(08:03)_  
Enjoy your day off.

 **Gavin**  
_(08:09)_  
its fine

 _(08:10)_  
awake now anyway

 _(08:12)_  
warrant approved yet?

 **RK900 #313 248 317 -87  
**_(08:13)_  
Still pending, I’m afraid.

 **Gavin**  
_(08:13)_  
what a fucking surprise

 _(08:14)_  
guys downstairs are hopeless

 **RK900 #313 248 317 -87** **  
**_(08:15)_  
They are merely overrun. It shouldn’t take  
much longer.

 **Gavin  
**_(08:15)_  
fowler’s been sayin that for 3 weeks

 **RK900 #313 248 317 -87  
**_(08:16)_  
Patience, Detective.

 **Gavin**  
_(08:16)_  
yeah yeah

 _(08:18)_  
why are you even at the station? if we’re  
workin together its your day off too

 **RK900 #313 248 317 -87  
**_(08:19)_  
I do not require physical or emotional rest as  
you do.

 _(08:19)_  
Yet another reason in favour of my superiority  
as a detective.

 **Gavin  
**_(08:19)_  
blow me

 _(08:19)_  
goin back to bed

 **RK900 #313 248 317 -87  
**_(08:20)_  
It was a joke, Detective.

 **Gavin  
**_(08:22)_  
I know shitbird

 _(08:22)_  
ha fucking ha

 _(08:34)_  
let me know if Anderson gets any good cases.  
bastard owes me a trade from last month

 **RK900 #313 248 317 -87  
**_(08:34)_  
As you wish.

 **Gavin**  
_(08:35)_  
cool

 

**CHANGE CONTACT NAME: RK900 #313 248 317 -87  
to: prick-900**

**CONFIRMING………  
100%**

**CHANGE CONFIRMED AT _08:37_**

 

 **prick-900**  
_(08:40)_  
You are the very essence of maturity, Detective.

 **Gavin**  
_(08:41)_  
凸

 

 _\-----------------------------_ Sunday 6th May, 2039(PM) _\-----------------------------  
                                               _                      

 **prick-900  
**_(13:05)_  
Apologies once again for interrupting your  
Sunday, Detective.

 _(13:05)_  
Are you familiar with an Agent Perkins of  
the FBI?

 **Gavin**  
_(13:06)_  
wtf is he doing there?

 **prick-900  
**_(13:07)_  
Apparently he’s been called in to aid the DPD in  
Officer Person’s latest case. A homicide downtown,  
if you weren’t aware.

 _(13:08)_  
He does not like me.

 **Gavin**  
_(13:09)_  
don’t blame him

 _(13:09)_  
figures though. perkins ordered the shootings  
on the android camps five months ago

 _(13:11)_  
guys probably still pissed about losin the  
android/human war. I heard his careers been a  
shitshow ever since

 **prick-900**  
_(13:12)_  
That explains his hostility.

 _(13:13)_  
I appreciate the insight, Detective.

 **Gavin  
**_(13:14)_  
sure whatever

 _(13:14)_  
can I get back to my lunch now?

 **prick-900**  
_(13:15)_  
Certainly.

 **Gavin**  
_(13:20)  
_ he’s not, like, giving you shit or anything right?

 _(13:22)_  
not that I care

 _(13:23)_  
but anderson punched him in the middle  
of the office one time and he still has his  
badge so

 _(13:23)_  
just sayin

 **prick-900  
**_(13:24)_  
Your concern is appreciated, Detective.

 **Gavin  
**_(13:25)_ **  
** not concerned, said I don’t care

 **prick-900**  
_(13:27)_  
Indeed.

 _(13:31)  
_ I’ll bear your suggestion in mind. Agent Perkins’s  
voice is starting to become bothersome.

 **Gavin**  
_(13:33)_  
FBI always screw shit up for us

 _(13:34)_  
no one would stop you from knocking him flat  
y’know

 

 _\-----------------------------_ Sunday 6th May, 2039 (PM) _\-----------------------------  
                                               _                       

 **Gavin**  
_(15:02)_  
so did you punch him or what

 **prick-900  
**_(15:05)_  
It was tempting.

 _(15:05)_  
But I refrained in the end. In Lieutenant Anderson’s  
own words, no good would come from breaking  
the agent’s nose a second time.

 **Gavin  
**_(15:07)_  
shit since when is Anderson the voice of reason

 **prick-900  
**_(15:08)  
_ On the contrary, I find the Lieutenant to be an  
incredibly reasonable man.

 _(15:09)_  
Though I assume most humans would seem so,  
in comparison to you.

 **Gavin  
**_(15:09)  
_ 凸

 **prick-900  
**_(15:09)_ **  
** In any case, Agent Perkins took his leave an  
hour ago.

 _(15:10)_  
He found the idea of android presence here  
even less appealing than yourself, if you can  
believe it.

 **Gavin**  
_(15:10)_  
man’s a drama queen

 **prick-900**  
_(15:10)_  
You have that in common.

 **Gavin**  
_(15:11)_  
凸凸凸

 **prick-900  
**_(15:14)_ **  
** He also made mention of you. Something  
about the ‘Greensway Case’ in 2031?

 _(15:22)_  
Detective?

 _(15:45)_  
I apologise if I have overstepped, Detective Reed.  
It was not my intention.

 **Gavin  
**_(15:51)_  
don’t pretend you haven’t done all your reading  
up on me

 _(15:51)  
_ you know damn well what that case was

 **prick-900**  
_(15:54)_  
A hostage situation at the Greensway Law Offices  
in Foxtown. Two workers were used as bargaining  
chips in the assailants’ negotiations with the DPD. The  
group were armed with guns and threatened to shoot  
the hostages if they weren’t given $50 000 and an  
escape car.

 _(15:55)_  
You were sent in to negotiate and free the hostages.  
Perkins and the FBI were also present, I assume.

 **Gavin  
**_(16:00)_  
then you know I fucked up. got a cop shot and one of the  
lawyers killed

 _(16:00)  
_ not like you have the fucking right to know anyhow

 _(16:01)_  
not like you could ever make a fuckin mistake like that

 **prick-900  
**_(16:05)_ **  
** I know you talked the assailants down and persuaded  
them to release one of the lawyers. An FBI agent was  
given clearance to open fire on the group unexpectedly  
due to a miscommunication.

 _(16:08)_  
That miscommunication is the reason for the lawyer’s  
death and your fellow Officer’s injury, Detective.  
You saved the second lawyer and returned her, unharmed,  
to her family.

 _(16:09)_  
You must not overlook the good you were responsible  
for. Nor are you at fault for what you could not control.

 _(16:30)  
_ I’ll leave you to the remainder of your Sunday. I apologise again  
for intruding in your personal matters.

 

**CHANGE CONTACT NAME: prick-900  
to: R.K**

**CONFIRMING………  
100%**

**CHANGE CONFIRMED AT _18:16_**

 

 **Gavin  
**_(23:44)_ **  
** night

 **R.K  
**_(23:46)_  
Goodnight, Detective Reed. **  
  
**

 

 _\-----------------------------_ Tuesday 8th May, 2039(AM) _\-----------------------------  
                                               _                       

 **Gavin**  
_(10:42)_  
where are you

 _(10:44)  
_ thought you were gettin coffee

 **R.K  
**_(10:50)_  
I am in a meeting, Detective.

 _(10:51)  
_ I did mention this. Though I see you were not  
listening when I excused myself earlier.

 **Gavin  
**_(10:52)_  
could’ve sworn you said you were gettin  
coffee

 **R.K**  
_(10:54)_  
Do you know what selective hearing is,  
Detective? I believe you may have it.

 **Gavin**  
_(10:55)_  
yeah, but do you know what I don’t have

 _(10:55)_  
my fucking coffee

 **R.K**  
_(10:56)_  
Your desk is exactly fifteen steps from the break  
room. You know where the coffee machine is.

 **Gavin**  
_(10:58)_  
nah I’ll wait

 _(11:04)  
_ what’s your dumb meeting about

 **R.K**  
_(11:07)_  
Android protection and rights to marriage  
in the smaller communities of Detroit.

 **Gavin  
**_(11:08)_  
thrilling

 _(11:10)  
_ when’s it over?

 **R.K**  
_(11:11)_  
No later than 12. If you can survive without  
me until then.

 **Gavin**  
_(11:55)_  
i’m grabbin lunch downtown

 _(11:56)_  
if you wanted to come

 _(11:56)_  
if not, its cool

 _(11:57)_  
I know you don’t really eat but

 **R.K**  
_(12:00)_  
I’ll meet you downstairs, Detective.

 

 _\-----------------------------_ Wednesday 9th May, 2039(AM) - _\----------------------------  
                                               _                        

 **R.K  
**_(11:23)_  
May I ask why you’re glaring at the young  
delivery man who just entered the precinct?

 **Gavin  
**_(11:24)_ **  
** if I can ask why the hell you’re textin me  
when I’m literally sitting across from you

 _(11:24)_  
weirdo

 **R.K  
**_(11:25)_  
It seems like something you’d rather not discuss  
aloud. I’m simply taking your penchants into  
consideration, Detective.

 **Gavin**  
_(11:26)_  
I weep with gratitude

 _(11:27)_  
and what kind of asshole uses the word penchants  
in a fucking text

 _(11:31)  
_ he’s an ex

 **R.K**  
_(11:31)_  
I see.

 **Gavin**  
_(11:32)  
_ yeah

 _(11:32)  
_ didn’t end well

 **R.K**  
_(11:32)  
_ You don’t have to explain.

 **Gavin**  
_(11:32)  
_ its fine

 _(11:33)_  
past is the past and all that shit

 _(11.33)_  
he’s a real asshole though.

 _(11:34)_  
like, more than I am

 **R.K**  
_(11:34)_  
Impossible, surely.

 **Gavin**  
_(11:35)_  
凸凸

 **R.K  
**_(11:38)  
_ You realise he is discussing you rather  
crudely, yes?

 **Gavin**  
_(11:38)_  
course I do dumbass

 _(11:39)_  
told you, he’s an asshole

 _(11:39)  
_ wipe that dumb frown of your face, robo cop.  
talking shit is just what ex’s do

 _(11:40)_  
doesn’t bother me anyway

 _(11:40)_  
he comes here every wednesday, you get  
used to it. not giving the prick the satisfaction  
of rising to it

 **R.K**  
_(11:43)_  
Excuse me.

 **Gavin**  
_(11:44)_  
where the fuck you goin??

 _(11:49)  
_ you’re a fucking maniac XD XD you know you’re  
gonna get a disciplinary right?

 **R.K  
**_(11:49)_  
Your use of emoticons undercuts your insult, Detective.

 _(11:50)  
_ And yes, I am aware.

 _(11:50)_  
Nevertheless, I doubt Mr. Archer will be returning here.  
I hope the other Officers will be open to ordering their  
pizza from an alternative establishment in the future.

 **Gavin  
**_(11:51)_ **  
** wasn’t an insult you moron

 _(11:51)_  
and yeah, think you scared him off for good XD

 **R.K  
**_(11:52)  
_ He was being rather distracting. And I do aim to get rid  
of as many distractions as possible.

 _(11:52)_  
Mission accomplished.

 **Gavin  
**_(11:53)_ **  
** you absolute fuckin maniac XD XD

 

 _\-----------------------------_ Friday 11th May, 2039 (PM) _\-----------------------------  
_                                                                       

 **Gavin  
**_(21:58)_ **  
** you awake?

 **R.K**  
_(22:00)_  
I do not sleep, Detective.

 **Gavin  
**_(22:01)_  
the fuck do you do all night then?

 _(22:01)_  
shit you don’t just stay at the station do you?

 **R.K**  
_(22:02)_  
No. Although I suppose the option is open to me.  
They have charging stations, after all.

 **Gavin**  
_(22:03)_  
so where the hell do you go?

 **R.K**  
_(22:03)_  
I have an apartment on Washington Boulevard.  
  
**Gavin**  
 _(22:04)_  
an apartment? seriously?

 **R.K**  
_(22:04)_  
Yes.

 _(22:05)_  
Is that truly so surprising to you?

 **Gavin**  
_(22:05)_  
no no, shit I just forget that androids can do that now

 _(22:05)_  
own property I mean

 _(22:06)_  
sorry ignore me, I’m an idiot

 **R.K  
**_(22:07)_ **  
** You’re not.

 _(22:07)  
_ You’re also nigh on impossible to ignore. I believe  
Wilson’s named you the loudest Officer in the  
precinct, in fact.

 **Gavin**  
_(22:08)_  
fuck you

 _(22:08)_  
seriously though, you have an apartment

 _(22:09)_  
on washington blvd

 _(22:09)_  
you live alone?

 **R.K**  
_(22:10)_  
Yes.

 _(22:11)_  
RK800 offered to find a place in New Jericho for  
me, but I declined. I thought I would prefer to make  
my own way, and I’ve found it agreeable so far.

 **Gavin**  
_(22:11)_  
I get that. chen offered to be my roommate a few times,  
to help out with rent and all that shit

 _(22:12)  
_ something kinda nice about going it alone though

 _(22:12)_  
rewarding

 **R.K**  
_(22:13)_  
You do not strike me as someone who accepts help  
easily, either.

 **Gavin**  
_(22:13)_  
thanks  凸 ??

 **R.K**  
_(22:14)_  
It was intended as a compliment.

 _(22:22)  
_ Detective?

 **Gavin**  
_(22:25)_  
sorry my fuckin cat knocked over half my fucking dishes

 **R.K  
**_(22:25)_ **  
** You own a cat?

 **Gavin  
**_(22:26)_ **  
** yeah

 _(22:26)_  
she’s such a bitch

 **R.K**  
_(22:27)_  
I wouldn’t have taken you for a ‘cat person’.

 _(22:27)_  
Or an ‘animal person’ in general. You can barely  
look after yourself.

 **Gavin**  
_(22:28)_  
har de fucking har

 _(22:29)_  
I took her off someone’s hands a few years ago. friend  
of mine moved outside the city and they couldn’t take  
the cat

 _(22:29)_  
she’s pretty cool most of the time. when she’s  
not being an asshole

 **R.K**  
_(22:30)_  
Like owner, like pet.

 **Gavin  
**_(22:30)_ **  
** 凸

 **R.K**  
_(22:30)_  
What’s her name?

 **Gavin**  
_(22:31)_  
mia

 _(22:31)  
_ like from pulp fiction. uma thurman’s  
character

 **R.K**  
_(22:32)_  
I’ve never seen it.

 _(22:32)_  
A favorite of yours?

 **Gavin**  
_(22:32)_  
you’ve never seen pulp fiction??

 _(22:33)_  
the greatest movie ever fucking made???

 _(22:33)_  
holy shit, you’re dead to me and my cat

 **R.K  
**_(22:34)_ **  
** I’ll have to educate myself, it seems.

 _(22:35)_  
You were born in 2002, but you’re a fan of older  
movies?

 **Gavin**  
_(22:36)_  
yeah my dad used to watch them with me. It was  
kinda a thing we used to do

 **R.K** _  
(22:42)_  
Was there something specific you wished to discuss  
when you texted me this evening, Detective? I fear  
we’ve gone rather off topic, if so.

 **Gavin**  
_(22:42)_  
what I need a fuckin reason to text you?

 **R.K**  
_(22:43)_  
Not at all. I was just making sure there was nothing  
urgent about your correspondence.

 _(22:44)_  
Though from your reaction, I presume my not having  
watched Pulp Fiction would classify as ‘urgent’ in your  
book?

 **Gavin**  
_(22:44)_  
it sure as shit does

 _(22:45)_  
what sort of self respecting person hasn’t watched  
pulp fiction

 **R.K**  
_(22:45)_  
I’ll be sure to rectify the issue as soon as possible,  
Detective.

 **Gavin**  
_(22:46)_  
cool

 _(22:47)_  
we got work tomorrow, I’m gonna hit the hay

 _(22:47)_  
enjoy your fancy apartment and being a movie pleb

 **R.K**  
_(22:48)_  
Enjoy your broken dishes and complete lack of social  
skills.

 **Gavin  
**_(22:49)_ **  
** touché asshole. I will

 _(23:15)_  
goodnight R

 **R.K**  
_(23:16)_  
Goodnight, Detective.

 

 _\-----------------------------_ Saturday 12th May, 2039 (AM) _\-----------------------------  
                                               _                       

 **Gavin  
**_(08:15)_  
cat broke my favourite fucking bowl

 **R.K  
**_(08:16)_  
My sympathies.

 _(08:16)_  
I believe this is where the term ‘LOL’ would be  
deemed appropriate?

 **Gavin**  
_(08:17)_  
凸凸凸


	8. Case part two

The morning starts well.

Gavin arrives at the precinct by eight. There’s a coffee waiting for him by his terminal, and R.K gives him a nod in greeting. It makes that dumb tuft of hair bounce over his forehead, and Gavin stares for far, far longer than he should.

And then Angie from level seventeen slaps the search warrant down on his desk by nine thirty.

When she does, Gavin makes a show of putting his hands together and raising them up to heaven. “Thank the fuckin’ Lord! Take you long enough, Angie? You wanna take another fuckin’ week while we’re here?”

“Oh, so you’re still a shithead, Reed. What a shocker.”

“What I’m certain Detective Reed means to say, Miss Davies,” R.K says crisply, shooting a Gavin a look from across the desk, “is _thank you_.”

Angie raises a pointed brow at Gavin. “Least your partner’s got some manners. And he didn’t even have a mother to learn them from.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Gavin gives the warrant a quick glance-over. “Thanks,” he adds. “I know things’ve been slow as hell lately.”

“Try crazy as hell. But that’s a good sign if anything, right? Means you cops are doing your job and going after the bad guys. You won’t see me complaining about that.”

“You not complaining? That’ll be a first,” Gavin remarks. “Thanks, though. Seriously.”

Angie blinks at him. “Did you just thank me twice? _Twice_?” She casts an astonished look at the android sitting at the opposite terminal. “Who are you and what have you done with douchebag Reed?”

“I’m reforming him, slowly but surely.” R.K lowers his voice to add, “Few know this, but it’s why we were created. Society decided something had to be done about him, and I was sent as a last resort.”

Angie snorts while Gavin glares at the android. “Oh, so you joke now? Is that supposed to be a fuckin joke?” he growls. “Fine time to find a sense of humour, you asshole. You’re gonna give me fuckin’ paranoia.”

“I have yet to do something about his language, as you can see,” R.K continues. “But I’ll get there. I was not programmed to fail.”

Angie chuckles and gives Gavin a little pat on the arm. “Well, sounds like you don’t take any of his crap. Good. I reckon he needs someone like that.”

“Fuck off, Angie.”

“You’ve got a good one here, Reed,” she adds. “Never seen a partner of yours last this long without quitting your sorry ass before, so you must be doing something right.”

“Won’t last. If he keeps his attitude up, he’ll be metal scrap by the end of the day,” Gavin warns, though R.K only smiles thinly in response.

Angie waves over her shoulder as she heads for the elevator. “Good luck with the case, boys.”

The drive to Michael Groves’s house isn’t infuriatingly long. Gavin even manages to educate R.K a little in the world of music on the way. The android doesn’t seem particularly keen on anything, but at least it’s an attempt at a start.

“Well, what the fuck would you rather listen to, smartass?” he asks, scowling after R.K’s accused his taste in music of being boorish and unvaried. “Classical fuckin’ music?”

“There is a degree of appeal to classical music,” R.K muses. “The notes are methodical, the structure precise. You wouldn’t happen to have any to listen to, though, I suppose.”

“Do I look like I’d have that classical shit?” Out of spite, Gain turns the volume up on the radio, although it does little more than cause R.K to raise a disapproving brow.

It hits Gavin abruptly as they’re driving along the outskirts of Central Detroit, with the city passing them by and R.K beside him in the passenger’s seat; where the android’s been a constant for near on a month now. If they find evidence of the ex-husband or his android’s involvement in the assault on Lydia Groves, then the case will be officially closed. R.K will be reassigned.

It’s what Gavin’s wanted since day one. He turns off the radio like it’s done him a personal injury.

“Is everything all right, Detective?” From the corner of his eye, Gavin can see R.K studying him coolly from across the gear stick. He wonders what the android can see on his face.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t it be.” He sounds petulant, even to his own ears.

“I only ask because you don’t typically turn the radio off, even when I ask. Or you’ve at least struck up another reluctant attempt at a conversation by now–”

“I’m fine,” Gavin bites out, just to shut him up. “What, a guy can’t enjoy a little peace and quiet? Stop fucking analysin’ me.”

He hasn’t snapped at R.K like that for a while, and it clearly takes the android aback. R.K barely reacts, of course, but Gavin can feel the sudden tension in the car; the way R.K’s posture is just a little stiffer than normal as he rests his palms on his thighs, and Gavin suddenly despises himself.

“I just wanna get this case over with already,” he mutters, lying through his teeth. “It’s been fuckin’ weeks, I don’t like waitin’ around.”

“I understand. I know having a partner forced onto you hasn’t helped matters, but now that we have the warrant–”

“That’s not what I meant, I didn’t–” Gavin cuts himself off, squeezing his eyes shut in frustration. _Get over yourself_ , a voice in the back of his head spits at him. _Swallow your fucking pride and just say what you wanna to say_. “Having a partner’s been all right. You’re cool. We’re cool.” He chances a glance at R.K, and feels his knuckles tighten over the steering wheel at the sight of the android's barely-there smile. “It hasn’t been as bad as I thought it’d be.”

To Gavin’s mortification, R.K turns his gaze away and trains it ahead onto the road, silent. But then…

“Likewise. You’re emotionally unstable, and you curse far too much, and you consume more caffeine than strictly recommended for someone of your height and age,” the android says. “But I have enjoyed working with you. It’s never boring.”

Gavin shakes his head, but he can feel himself smiling. “Would’ve cut all that a lot shorter if you’d just called me a dickhead.”

“Very well. You’re a dickhead.”

When Gavin pulls into Mr. Groves’s driveway, he gives a long, low whistle as they step out of the car and look up at the house.

If Lydia Groves’s home had made him feel small and insignificant, then it’s nothing compared to her ex-husband’s. After over a decade of making a name for himself as Kamski’s go-to architect, Michael Groves is likely as wealthy as a man can possibly be. Looking up at his house, Gavin doesn’t fucking doubt it.

“Jesus H Christ. Shoulda become an architect, this place is a goddamn fortress.”

“A considerable proficiency in maths is required to pursue an architectural career.” Though R.K, too, looks slightly enthralled as he takes in the size of the estate. Well, Gavin assumes he does. The android’s expressions never give much away. “Mr. Groves is a former acquaintance of Elijah Kamski. I believe they studied together at the University of Colbridge.”

“I swear, everyone that University spat out became a rich, pompous piece of shit. I’ve seen Kamski on TV a bunch of times,” Gavin says as they make their way to the front gates. “Don’t like the way that asshole talks. Thinks he’s better than everyone else. And he always makes the interviewers feel like shit, never gives ‘em a straight answer.”

“I would guess that as someone in his position, he’s going for _enigmatic_ rather than _asshole_. But you do have a point,” R.K concedes. “There is a fine line between confidence and arrogance. A line you walk hazardously,” he adds dryly, though Gavin knows that teasing tone well enough by now to recognise it.

Gavin quickly forgets the grandeur of the building after making first contact with Mr. Groves over the intercom. Nearly a month of waiting for approval on the fucking search warrant, and Gavin doesn’t even get the chance to push it into Groves’s smug architect hands. Their suspect refuses to allow them into his home. Despite the fact that Gavin makes it very fucking clear that, considering they have the warrant, they are liable to take him into the station by force should he make things difficult, the front door remains firmly closed.

“Motherfucker,” Gavin bites out, buzzing the intercom again for a full ten seconds. “You’re a prime fuckin’ suspect in an assault, so you better open the fuck up, or I swear to God–”

“Detective.” R.K remains a calm and collected presence at his side, staring at the door placidly as though it will glide open by eye-contact alone. “I doubt that coercion, no matter how colourful, is going to convince him to allow us entry.”

“Okay, smartass, what d’you suggest we do then? Camp out here till fuckin’ sundown, freezing our asses off until this prick lets us in outta the kindness of his heart?”

“We have the warrant,” R.K points out, and Gavin is suddenly a little unnerved by the pensive expression on his partner’s face. “I was going to suggest simply hacking the door and letting ourselves in to begin our search. But if you’d prefer to, as you put it, _camp out_ until we wear Mr. Groves down, then at least it proves that your patience has come quite a way.”

Gavin frowns, certain he’s misheard. “You’re seriously sayin’ you wanna break in?”

“Not at all. I’m saying that we are within our right to enter the residence through any means necessary.” R.K grants him that thin smile that Gavin’s come to find less irritating and more endearing by the day. “We have a valid search warrant. Mr. Groves is denying us. I wouldn’t deem that _breaking in_ , Detective.”

Gavin shakes his head, muttering, “Knew you were a fuckin’ maniac,” under his breath as he gives the neighbourhood behind them a quick and wary glimpse-over. Then he motions to the door, “Well, what the fuck are you waitin’ for then? Get a move on.”

It takes ten seconds of R.K laying his hand on Mr. Groves’s keypad, before they’re inside the house and shutting the front door behind them. Gavin makes sure to slam it extra loudly; let the rich bastard know they’re there.

The welcoming foyer is large, and lining the walls are models of the buildings Groves has designed, and everything is white enough to cause Gavin an instant headache. But still, there is no sign of their suspect.

“Michael Groves,” he calls, ceiling high enough that his voice echoes off the surfaces and around the room. “You’ve purposefully hindered our investigation. We’re gonna have to do this the hard way and take you downtown.”

“Once we’ve searched your property for the ST300 model cited in your ex-wife’s statement,” R.K adds, supposedly scanning around for a heat signature. Gavin can usually tell; the android’s gaze becomes slightly distant whenever he scans something, whereas Connor always blinks a little too rapidly. “This will be quite simple, so long as you choose to cooperate from here on–”

And then things go spectacularly wrong from there.

The gunshot barely registers, despite the sound of the blast ricocheting off the foyer walls. R.K moving to shield him and the blue spray of thirium that splatters across his jacket is all Gavin can focus on. It’s like he’s watching it in slow motion. Gavin can see every droplet burst free, every bright blue particle suddenly staining R.K’s coat; pooling around his left shoulder and running in rivulets down his arm.

“Stay where you are!” Michael Groves is stood at the top of a small set of stairs leading to another part of the house. Early forties, greying hair, blue shirt tucked into dress pants. Pastel pink tie that Gavin wants to _strangle_ the man with, and well-manicured hands – the hands of someone who hasn’t done a day of manual labour in their life – clutching a Beretta 92 and pointing it directly at R.K. “Don’t you dare come any closer!”

Gavin’s first instinct is to step in front – _protect, protect, protect, shoot again you fucking cunt and you’re dead_ – and he feels himself start to move, his eyes darting from the red flash of R.K’s LED, to the bullet wound oozing thirium from the android’s shoulder.

But R.K holds out an arm, keeping Gavin firmly defended behind him as he directs his own weapon at the man.

Gavin is having fucking none of it. He draws his gun and moves to the side out of R.K’s guard, aiming the barrel at Mr. Groves’s head. “Drop the gun, asshole! You just fired at an officer, we’re takin’ you in–”

“I told you to stay away,” Mr. Groves spits out, jabbing the gun forward hazardously and making Gavin tighten the grip on his own. He can see the man’s arms shaking. Groves has clearly never used the gun before. “You shouldn’t be here, I told them I wasn’t letting any officers come here!”

“Drop the weapon! Don’t be fuckin’ stupid–”

“I’ll shoot! I swear to God, I’ll shoot–”

“Mr. Groves,” R.K cuts across him evenly. “Do not make the situation more problematic than you already have. I have contacted the DPD and squad cars are on their way to this location. You can make this easier for yourself by cooperating with us and lowering the gun–”

“No! No, you’ll find her!”

Gavin sees the man’s arms begin to waver even more, index finger trembling against the gun’s trigger. The urge to shift in front of R.K is becoming desperate now; thirium is dripping onto the ground, the blue a stark and sickening contrast to the white flooring.

“I w-won’t let you take her! It’s not her fault, it wasn’t her fault!”

“The fuck are you talking about?”

“I know what Lydia told you! She’s lying! But you won’t listen, no one will ever listen! Not when it comes to androids! I thought it would be different after Markus, but it isn’t–”

“Mr. Groves, you need to calm down and lower your weapon–”

“No!” The man straightens his arms, turning the gun on Gavin instead, and from the edge of his vision, Gavin sees R.K’s whole body flinch in his direction. “No, you’re not taking her away! She didn’t do anything wrong–”

“Michael, that’s enough!”

Keeping his weapon trained on Mr. Groves, Gavin glances towards the new voice. At the other side of the foyer stands their prime suspect, the ST300; LED removed and hands in the air as a show of surrender.

“Madeline, I told you to stay hidden,” Mr. Groves snaps. “Goddamn it, I’m trying to protect you–”

“You shot a police officer, Michael! This has gone too far.” The ST300 slowly makes her way closer to Gavin. There are tear tracks staining her cheeks, but she looks resolved. “I’m sorry,” she says, voice quaking. “I just wanted to stay hidden until things calmed down, I didn’t mean for this to go so far. Please, he was just trying to protect me.”

She seems to notice R.K then, eyes widening when she sees thirium instead of red blood soaking through his clothes. “He has an android with him, Michael, they might understand–”

“They won’t! No one will ever understand, Madeline, you already tried that with Lydia!” Mr. Groves is still pointing the gun at him. Gavin considers the amount of time it would take to reach him, take the man by surprise and take him out, but he doubts he could make it before Groves took the shot. “Things aren’t going to change–”

“And _you’re_ not going to make things any better by waving a gun around!” Madeline keeps her hands up and meets Gavin’s gaze again. “I’m the one you’re here for, and I’m surrendering. But I exercise my right as an android to be questioned by one of my own people.”

“Good for you,” Gavin snarls, before returning his attention to Mr. Groves. He can hear the sirens of the squad cars pulling up outside “Now _you_. Put the fuckin’ gun down and get on the ground, I won’t ask again! You’re both comin’ to the station.”

“Please, Michael. There’s nothing more you can do,” Madeline pleads, and that seems to break through to him.

Mr. Groves lowers the gun, and it slips from his fingers and clatters onto the hard floor. Gavin kicks it away when he gets closer, and he’s cuffing Mr. Groves’s hands behind his back, R.K doing the same to the ST300, when Hank and Chris enter the house followed by three more officers.

“Jesus, the fuck happened here.” Anderson makes his way over to Gavin, noticing the blue stains on his clothes. “Shit, Reed, you both all right–”

Gavin cuts him off, hauling Mr. Groves back onto his feet and shoving him at Hank. “Just take this asshole to the car.”

The second Anderson closes his hand around Mr. Groves’s arm, Gavin’s crossing the foyer, sidestepping Chris as he escorts the ST300 away, and grasping R.K by the sleeve to spin him around.

“Did it hit anything?” Gavin’s vision blurs from how frantically his eyes dart over R.K’s shoulder, taking in the circular tear in the android’s jacket where exposed wires and circuits are flashing blue beneath the synthetic skin. “R, did it fucking hit anythin’–”

“No.” R.K’s grabbed his wrist, keeping him from touching anything. Gavin hadn’t even realised his hand had been clutching at the android’s clothes. “Nothing that can’t be fixed.”

“Why’d you do that?” Gavin hates that his voice is trembling; that his fingers are trembling, that his vision is hazy and swaying where it fixates on the wound that would have been Gavin’s own, had R.K not moved to protect him. “Why the fuck would you do that–”

“Detective, if I hadn’t–”

“What, you think I’m gonna thank you? _Fuck_ you,” Gavin chokes out, all of a sudden furious, and his fists are grasping at the fabric of R.K’s sleeve, and there’s a coiling, constricting weight in the pit of his stomach that makes him feel like he’s about to be sick. _“Fuck you_ , you don’t get to do that shit, you could’ve–”

“Detective–”

“No, fuck you! _Fuck you,_ he shoulda shot you in the fucking head, then I wouldn’t h-have to waste my fuckin’ breath tellin’ you what a fucking asshole you a-are–”

“ _Gavin_.” R.K’s hands are cupping his jaw, and Gavin realises he’s been turned around; R.K’s body shielding him from view of the rest of the room. Shit, shit, fuck, Gavin hasn’t had a panic attack since Greensway, but he recognises it now; merciless and intense and making him feel like his knees are about to buckle and his whole body is about to sink through the floor.

But R.K’s there; a solid, warm presence in front of him, and until now Gavin’s never been so thankful for that note of calmness in the android’s voice. “Focus on me, focus on your breathing. This will pass.”

Gavin focuses on the bullet wound instead, on the rhythmic flare of blue lights in the wires. The methodical glints are ironically soothing, considering they’re what caused Gavin’s fucking meltdown in the first place. As he begins to calm, he’s suddenly so, so grateful for R.K’s height; for his body in between him and any prying eyes. In a final moment of weakness, Gavin lets his forehead drop against R.K’s uninjured shoulder, closing his eyes until breathing finally comes easier to him.

“I don’t fucking need you to protect me.”

“Unfortunately, humans are not so easily fixed. The choice was simple and I was happy to make it.”

Gavin bites out a curse, so quiet and muffled against the android’s jacket that he’s not even sure what he says himself. “Then I don’t _want_ you to, asshole. Don’t fuckin’ do it again.”

R.K doesn’t answer, nor does he resist when Gavin gently shoves him away. They walk to the car in silence, and Gavin doesn’t have the energy to argue when R.K slides into the driver’s seat and gestures for the keys. They follow Hank and Chris back to Detroit, and if Gavin stands a little closer to R.K than necessary as they ride the elevator up to the DPD’s interrogation rooms, then neither officer says anything.


	9. The truth will out

“The bullet didn’t go deep.” Connor’s brows knit together as he surveys the damage. “I should be able to remove it quite easily.”

“Well, get a fuckin’ move on then.” Gavin’s been shot before; had a bullet lodged between bone and muscle and layers of skin, he knows how much it sucks. After the initial pain comes this itching, teeth-grinding longing to claw the intrusion out. He also knows that androids can’t feel pain, but… still. He wants that fucking bullet _gone_.

They’ve taken one of the empty interrogation rooms. The main lights hadn’t seemed to be working, so they’re on back-up power; these pathetic, dim blue lights on the ceiling panels that let off more of a glow than any kind of useful brightness. Though Gavin supposes they should count their blessings that Connor doesn’t need much light to be able to see anyway.

R.K’s perched on the table, thirium-stained jacket folded over the back of one of the chairs, and shirt unbuttoned halfway to reveal the jagged bullet wound just beneath his collarbone.

He looks calm as ever, unfazed as Connor pokes around in his wires; a complete contrast to Gavin’s tapping fingers and antsy fidgeting.

“We should approach the Captain about having more androids stationed here, for medical needs,” Connor muses, thirium dripping down his knuckles as he nudges deeper into the wound. “Someone more qualified than me, at least,” he adds.

“But you can fix him, right?” It comes out as more of a warning than a question, and the way Gavin’s stood, leaning against the far wall with his shoulders hunched and arms folded, only enhances the effect. “Connor–”

“I’m perfectly capable, Detective,” Connor interrupts, though his eyebrows are still furrowed in a manner that doesn’t reassure Gavin _at all_. “But bear in mind, I was built for putting bullets _into_ things. Not taking them out.”

Gavin feels a sudden urge to bang his head against the wall. “Dipshit, I swear to God–”

“There.” Connor draws his fingers back, wet and soaked in blue, with the bullet held between them. He drops it with a clatter into the metal plate he’d swiped from a shelf on the way there, and then he begins to inspect the internal damage. “That actually wasn’t too complicated.”

Androids can’t feel pain, Gavin reminds himself, but he swears that R.K’s shoulders had relaxed the second the bullet was gone. Maybe he could feel it digging in there; no pain, but still an unwelcome invasion in his system.

“Detective Reed.” Gavin blinks in Connor’s direction, where the android is beckoning him over. “Keep his injury in check, I need to find something to seal the damage with. If you see red instead of blue coming from inside,” Connor explains as Gavin cautiously treads to the table, “then shout for me. I won’t be long.”

“Whoa, whoa, hey, Connor!” Gavin’s calls get louder and more panicked as the android turns and paces out of the room. “Connor! Asshole, get back here!”

Connor’s hasty footsteps only become more distant, and Gavin curses under his breath when they disappear altogether. His eyes dart to fix on R.K’s wound. The methodical flickers and flashes from the internal wires are, as Connor had said, a familiar and comforting blue. Gavin can feel himself glaring at them, as though his stern expression alone will keep them that way.

“I think he asked you to keep an eye as a mere precaution,” R.K points out, a smile audible in his voice, from above him. “I ran a diagnostic. My systems are in no danger.”

“Oh yeah, smartass, and what if your diagnostics were damaged, huh? What if they gave you the wrong feedback,” Gavin snaps back, focus still stubbornly fixed on the wound. “Wouldn’t feel so clever then, would you.”

R.K doesn’t retort, but Gavin knows he’s raising that fucking eyebrow at him in amusement. Gavin’s glare only deepens, and his gaze only becomes more intent on the injury, and the edge of R’s fucking shirt is covering a corner of the wound, and Gavin hooks his index finger around the fabric and tugs it to the side before he even registers what he’s doing.

The tip of his thumb is now resting against R.K’s chest, and he doesn’t know why it’s such a shock to his own very vulnerable, very human system to suddenly have the knowledge that the android is _warm_. And it’s not like Gavin’s never touched an android before, either; he knows thirium is pumped around androids’ vitals like regular blood, he fucking _knows_  they're as warm as any human. But his shock seems to boil down to the simple fact that it’s _R.K_ perched in front of him. It’s _R.K_ that his fingertips are pressing against, it's  _R.K’s_ shirt he’s just pulled aside, it's  _R.K_ whose hair is ruffled and who’s wounded and who’s looking down at him with this fond, _soft_ expression that Gavin’s never seen on his face before, until right now.

“I’ll be all right.” R’s voice is painfully soft as well, like Gavin’s the one that’s been injured.

“I know that, dumbass.” Gavin has this insane, intense moment of bravery, and he presses his palm flat, half against the shirt, half against R.K’s bare skin. “I know you’re made of strong stuff. I don't... I just–”

The doors slide open, and Connor returns. Gavin pulls back as though he’s been burned.

He reluctantly retakes his place at the side of the room as the android gets to play nurse and patches up his patient bit by bit. He works quickly, and the tension in Gavin’s shoulders and chest eases tremendously when the bullet wound is no longer visible.

As R.K closes the last button on his shirt, Anderson sticks his head in from the corridor. “How’s things goin’?”

Connor gives a nod. “All done, Lieutenant.”

Hank hears him well and clear, but he still gives R.K a look over. One of his habits, Gavin knows; if the man doesn’t see something with his own two eyes, he won’t let the matter go. “Gonna be all right? You all good?”

“I am fully operational; nothing was in urgent need of repairs.” R.K shoots Hank a little smile, nowhere near as soft as Gavin had seen when they were alone. “Your concern is appreciated, though unneeded, Lieutenant, I assure you.”

“Jesus, he sounds like you did months back,” Hank says to Connor, and he scoffs between both androids. “Bein’ a stick in the mud run in the family?”

Connor’s head tilts, and Gavin sees R.K’s mouth close into a thin line; telltale signs that the androids are about to argue against the Lieutenant’s flawed logic, and Gavin knows it could last for-fucking- _ever_.

“All right, ladies,” he interrupts, barely making it as Connor opens his mouth to speak. “R’s got an interrogation to go to, everybody get the fuck out.”

“I thought you were interrogatin’ the suspect?” Hank asks, brows high in surprise as they file out into the hallway. “Shit, she requested an android?”

“D’you really blame her,” Gavin retorts. “If I had the choice, I’d rather be questioned by a human; someone like me. Makes sense.”

Anderson gives a grunt of agreement after thinking it through. “You got a point. Suppose it’s a comfort, if nothin’ else. Havin’ someone that might understand you better.” He glimpses back at R.K, who walks beside Connor with near perfect synchronicity. “You ever done an interrogation before?”

R.K levels him with an unimpressed look, and Gavin smirks.

“Lieutenant, you remember what the RK series is designed for, yes? It was my belief that you and RK800 worked together on the Ortiz case last year. Was his performance not enough to instil some faith in our capabilities?”

Hank has the grace to look sheepish as he turns his gaze forward again. “I see bein’ a smartass runs in the family, too,” he grumbles, before stopping outside room 025. “The suspect’s next door,” he tells R.K, pressing his hand against the keypad of the observation room to gain access. “Try not to let her self-destruct.”

“As you say, Lieutenant.”

“Hey,” Gavin says before R.K moves to enter the interrogation room. “Good luck.”

That soft smile makes its second reappearance in only so many minutes. “Thank you, Detective.” R.K strides through the door, and Gavin takes his place with Hank and Connor in the neighbouring room to begin watching.

He has a disconcerting rush of déjà vu as he regards the ST300 through the one-way mirror; sitting where Carlos Ortiz’s android had almost six months back, cuffs locking her wrists to the table and looking just as frightened. Guess things haven’t changed in the city as much as he’d thought when it came to androids.

R.K is now poised opposite her, hands laced together atop the table, and legs neatly crossed beneath. “Madeline. Your chosen name, or the one Mr. Groves gave you?”

“Michael gave it to me. When I first became his assistant.”

“That was around five years ago, correct?”

“Yes.”

“And how long have you been having sexual relations with your employer?”

Gavin watches Madeline blink in surprise, and she casts an embarrassed glance at the mirror. “H-how… how did you know that–”

“Mr. Groves was willing to shoot Detective Reed and myself in order to prevent us from locating you,” R.K answers, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I doubt any human would go to such lengths for a simple secretary, let alone an android.”

Gavin hears Hank huff from beside him. “Ok, I admit it. Your ‘droid’s good.”

“Nine is equipped with the same software as I am, Lieutenant,” Connor points out, not looking away from the interrogation room. “His proficiency shouldn’t come as a surprise. As he mentioned before, this is the kind of work we were built for.”

Gavin side-eyes the android. “Nine?”

“A nickname.”

“I already gave him a name, smartass.”

“I’m aware. But I’ve learned that personalised nicknames are often applied as a sign of friendship. I rather like using them.”

There’s that small, twitchy smile on Connor’s face again, and Gavin makes a show of rolling his eyes with an annoyance he doesn’t feel. Once upon a time, if he was held at gunpoint perhaps he might have admitted to finding Connor’s smiles cute, paired with those dumb freckles and the jawline and the Bambi doe-eyes. But since R.K–

Gavin cuts the thought off there.

“Unless I’m wrong, Madeline?”

The ST300’s shoulders are hunched in discomfort, but she concedes. “No. We are intimate with one another. For over two years now, and long, long after Michael and Lydia’s divorce.”

“And has Mr. Groves ever expressed a desire to reconnect with his ex-wife? Perhaps that’s why you broke into her house and assaulted her on April thirteenth,” R.K continues, cold in the face of the ST300’s shock. “People have done far worse for the sake of passion.”

“No! No, I would never–”

“There’s no point in delaying the inevitable,” R.K interrupts. “We already have Ms. Groves’s statement, and there was considerable evidence placing you at her house that night.”

Gavin feels himself frown. There was _no_ evidence, besides a botched broken lock and the gash on Lydia Groves’s arm– and then he realises what R.K is doing. Since the revolution, specific laws regarding androids had been enforced, particularly involving android-related crime. One law, Madeline had already taken advantage of: androids accused of a crime could exercise their right to be questioned by another android, or at least have another android present in the room, for their own comfort if nothing else. Another law was that probing an android’s memory without their consent was now highly illegal. And since they didn’t know precisely what had occurred at Lydia Groves’s house that night, R.K was slowly but surely coercing Madeline to allow them to see the events for themselves.

“Clever,” Gavin mutters to himself, more than ready to see where this goes, before the door to the hallway slides open and Ben pokes his head in.

“Gavin–”

“In the middle of somethin’. Fuck off, Ben.”

“Fowler wants to see you. Gotta sign the report for what happened at Michael Groves’s house.”

“Can it wait?!” Gavin motions between himself and the one-sided mirror, “We’re about to get a fuckin’ confession here, Ben. Jesus.”

“I can stay to mediate,” Hank says, reclining back in his chair. “Your ‘droid looks like he knows what he’s doing. If anythin’ happens, Connor’ll come get you.”

Gavin straightens up, fingers curling to fists. “Fuck that! Fowler can fuckin’ wait–”

“Don’t be a fuckhead, Reed, though I know it’s hard for you,” Hank adds, and Gavin barely restrains the urge to kick the chair legs out from under the man. “I’ll keep an eye on your partner, it’s under control. Go and see Fowler.”

Gavin feels his jaw clench, ready to argue, but Ben and Hank and Connor are staring at him, and R.K is composed as ever behind the glass, and Gavin _really_ cannot afford another disciplinary. He takes a breath through his nose, works his knuckles to loosen them, bites out a “Fine,” and marches past Hank. “If _anythin’_ happens,” he warns, and Hank’s accepting wave is enough to lessen the amount Gavin grits his teeth as he walks out into the hallway.

Ben follows him as far as his desk. Gavin takes the steps up to Fowler’s office two at a time, and he doesn’t even knock; just shoulders open the door and lets it slam behind him.

“The fuck, Fowler? Sendin’ Ben to come fetch me, what the fuck? R’s in the middle of a fuckin’ interrogation, this couldn’t have waited half an hour–?”

“Do not give me your attitude today, Reed, I’m not in the mood! And for the last goddamn time, it’s _Captain_.” Fowler glares at him over the brim of the paper work he was looking over before Gavin had stormed in. “I am well aware that you were in an interrogation, do not mock my intelligence. I also know Hank and Connor are there too, and you don’t need three fucking people to mediate. Need to talk to you about something, anyway.”

“Just give me the fuckin’ report, then,” Gavin gripes, reaching out for the paper. “Ben said I just needed to sign it–”

“We’ll get to that,” Fowler interrupts, holding up his free hand to silence him. “I gotta talk to you about the RK900. Since it started working here–”

“R.K.”

Fowler raises a brow, and Gavin crosses his arms tightly over his chest.

He can feel the flush on his neck and he knows he’s biting the inside of his mouth in embarrassment. But he also feels another surge of bravery, and he presses on before it fades away. “His name’s R.K. And he ain’t a fucking _it_ , so quit callin’ him that.”

He expects a reprimand for talking back, but Fowler merely lowers his gaze to read through something on the paper again, before setting it aside on the desk. He fixes Gavin with a solemn expression.

“Since R.K started working here, he’s gotten some attention from other precincts. Even some other agencies. We already knew Connor’s presence had increased public opinion these last few months,” Fowler explains, standing to round the desk and sit on one corner, a little closer to Gavin. “And now with Groves’s case about to be closed, I assume attention’s only gonna grow as far as public service androids are concerned.”

Gavin does _not_ like the look on his Captain’s face. “Yeah, and?” He spares a glimpse to the piece of paper Fowler was holding. He swears to fucking God that the room actually starts spinning when he spots the words **FBI** in bold, intrusive type. “The hell’s this about?”

“The FBI’s been following R.K’s work. As a prototype like Connor, his position here was experimental, to see how things’d work out–”

“Spit it out, Fowler,” Gavin growls, patience out the window and halfway down the block. “What the fuck do those assholes want?”

“Perkins wants R.K with them.” Fowler reaches over and retrieves the paper, handing it out to Gavin. “Sent us this this morning. Never expected the man to request an android for the FBI, not after what happened during the revolution, but… well. Here we are.”

Gavin feels like someone’s stepping on his windpipe. He tries to skim through the transfer request, but phrases like _valuable asset_ and _advanced prototype_ and Richard Perkins’s fucking swirly signature at the bottom of the page is making it very difficult for Gavin not to crumple the paper up in his fist.

“Perkins is coming in sometime this week to discuss a possible transfer.”

Gavin scoffs, but it comes out choked. “What, and R gets no fuckin’ say in this? You’re just gonna hand him over like a goddamn–”

“Don’t give me that shit, Reed, of course the android gets a fucking say,” Fowler cuts across him again, fingers rubbing his temples as though to soothe an oncoming headache. “R.K will be involved in the discussion. I just thought you should know as soon as, since you’ve been the one working with him,” the Captain adds. “Jesus Christ, Gavin, a few weeks ago you were begging me to reassign you! I thought you'd be thrilled about this.”

Maybe Gavin would have been. But as Fowler just said, that was a _few_ _fucking_ _weeks ago_. “Yeah, well I’m not. Dick Perkins and the whole FBI can kiss my fuckin’ ass. R ain’t going anywhere.”

“That’s the android’s decision. Not yours,” Fowler says sharply, “and not anyone else’s, as you’ve made abundantly fucking clear.”

Gavin’s fingernails are digging into his palms; any harder and he’ll draw blood, but the slight sting’s the only thing keeping him from throwing Fowler’s desk chair through the glass walls. “What if he chooses to stay, then what?”

“Then he’ll stay.” Fowler says, as though it’s as simple as that. “We’ve got the room, and with the way the city’s going at the minute, we need all the good officers we can get our hands on. _If_ he decides to stay,” he stresses. “It’s a good position Perkins is offering, Reed. R.K would be an idiot to turn it down. Anyone would be.”

Gavin doesn’t answer. And after a few seconds of heavy, angry silence, Fowler sighs and files through another mound of papers on the desk. He pulls one out and pushes it at Gavin, “The major incident report for Michael Groves’s house. Read it, sign it, and get the fuck out. I got a million other things to deal with.”

When Gavin trudges back out of the office, snarling and scowling and feeling like something in his chest is about to shatter, R.K is waiting for him at their desks.

“The Lieutenant mentioned you’d been called away,” he says in way of greeting, glancing to the transparent walls of Fowler’s office. “Nothing too serious, I hope?”

R.K’s still got blue splatters all over his jacket, and the tear in his shirt from Groves’s bullet is still there, and his hair still isn’t as neat as it usually is, and Gavin suddenly has an overwhelming desire to fist his hands in it and pull the android down to eye level.

“It was nothin’,” he says instead. “Report for the shooting. Could’ve waited till we were finished.”

“Speaking of which,” R.K begins, and he leans down to load up something on Gavin’s terminal. How the android has his password, Gavin has no idea and he doesn’t bother asking. Things like that don’t tend to surprise him anymore. “There’s something you should see, Detective.”

“She confess?”

“Not quite. She allowed me access to her memory, and I found out what happened on April thirteenth at Ms. Groves’s residence.” R.K places his palm over Gavin’s terminal, and the screen freezes and fizzes for several seconds before a video file sporting R.K’s serial number opens. “I believe this sheds light on the gaps in Ms. Groves’s statement. Madeline is, in fact, completely innocent.”

“The fuck? So, what, she never broke in?”

“Just watch, Detective.” Gavin leans beside R.K to get a closer look at the screen. “Once you have, I expect we’ll have to pay Ms. Groves a second visit.”

***

“So, Detective…” Lydia Groves is wearing the same string of pearls, the same style of dress suit, only in white instead of green, and this time around, Gavin feels cold irritation clench in his gut when she casts her disapproving expression over R.K for the third time since they entered her house. “Might I ask what brings you and your… _android_ , back here with absolutely no warning from Captain Fowler?”

“We’re following up on somethin’, ma’am,” Gavin grates out, as politely as he can manage. “It’s kinda serious.”

He takes a sip of coffee, having accepted one this time around just for something to do with his hands. It’s in a fucking china cup, and it tastes expensive as shit, and she put sugar in it, and Gavin would give his right fucking leg for a cup of the precinct coffee instead. Preferably one that R.K’s made.

“We brought in your ex-husband and his android,” Gavin continues, instead of voicing his complaints. “Michael Groves is goin’ on trial for shooting at my partner there,” he adds, gesturing in R.K’s direction, where the android is leaning in the doorframe.

The coffee tastes slightly better at the sight of Ms. Groves’s horrified expression. “On trial–? For shooting–” She stares at R.K, who offers her a thin smile in response. “Michael can’t be on trial! He wasn’t even involved in the assault, I told you! It was all his android’s–”

“ _Madeline_ is innocent, ma’am,” Gavin cuts across her, dropping the china cup back into it’s plate with a harsh little _clink_ , and putting his boots up on the coffee table. Ms. Groves looks traumatised by the display, and Gavin makes sure to slouch a little more for the hell of it. “We know she never broke into your house. You’ve been lyin’ this whole time.”

“Lying?!” Ms. Groves makes a show of looking incredulous. “That’s absurd! There– The lock was broken, Detective Reed, you saw it yourself! And this,” she rolls up her sleeve to reveal the cut; healing but still visible along the side of her forearm. “What reason would I have to lie–?”

“I’m glad you ask.” R.K straightens up, and he takes a few paces until he’s standing in the centre of the kitchen. “Thank you once again for allowing us back into your home, Ms. Groves. I should be able to reconstruct the scene much clearer here than at the precinct.” He looks to Gavin, “If you’ll allow me to take lead, Detective?”

Gavin sweeps a hand over the kitchen, while Lydia gapes at them from her place on the sofa. “Do your thing.”

R.K laces his hands behind his back, and begins his analysis. “Madeline did not break in, Ms. Groves, because you invited her in.”

“Ridiculous! I will not be questioned in my own home. You, both of you, leave this instant–”

“After your divorce, and Michael Groves’s rising success, you became bitter. Envious of his new relationship with his assistant. Madeline. So you hatched a little plan.” R.K moves over to the back door, inspecting the lock. “Stage a break-in, stage an assault, and frame Madeline for the crime. After all, who would believe an android over a human? Even with the new laws put into place.”

“Detective Reed, I demand that you shut this thing up–”

“You invited Madeline here as a show of peace on April thirteenth; a chance to talk things through and move forwards, which she readily accepted,” R.K continues, ignoring Ms. Groves’s demands. “She entered here quite legally; through the front door, in fact. I have her memory of that night uploaded. Unfortunately, it all becomes a little hazy after you began breaking things in order to stage the attack. Emotional shock is never good for an android’s processors, Ms. Groves.”

“We couldn’t see anythin’ after you smashed all the china,” Gavin adds. “She was makin’ dinner, right?” he asks R.K, getting to his feet and joining him near the oven. “I saw steam from the stove before the image from Madeline’s memory started cutting out.”

“Correct.”

“Then she started tearin’ the place apart,” Gavin continues, treading along the outskirts of the kitchen counters, recalling vague, static images of broken plates and torn curtains flashing across the screen of his terminal back at the DPD. “But that alone wouldn’t be evidence enough. You needed somethin’ else,” he continues to Lydia over his shoulder, as he comes to a stop beside the stand of knives. “I was wonderin’ why the cut was on your left fuckin’ arm,” he mutters to himself.

“An astute observation, Detective.” There’s that proud, impressed little note to R.K’s voice, and it gives Gavin all the go ahead he needs to continue.

“If you’d gotten that injury in self-defence, it’d be on your right arm. You’re right-handed,” Gavin indicts, taking in the gash running beneath Ms. Groves’s left sleeve. “On instinct, you’d raise your dominant arm to fight off an attack. Madeline didn’t do that to you. You fuckin’–”

“Did it to yourself,” R.K finishes. “Indeed. The same way you damaged the back-door’s lock, to make it appear as though there was an intrusion. You were trying to point the evidence away from yourself and toward Madeline, in the hope that she would be arrested. What was your end goal?” R.K presses on, drawing closer to Ms. Groves, who by now has stood and is staring, dazed and dismayed, between them. “To see Madeline behind bars? To win your ex-husband back? Or was it plain and simple hatred for an innocent android? I doubt you foresaw Michael Groves protecting her, however.”

“She’s a machine!” Ms. Groves splutters, finally finding her voice. “She’s just a machine! Michael just needed an assistant for work, he wasn’t supposed to fall in love with her! He left me for a fucking machine, and now he’s going to jail for a machine! It should be Madeline, it should be that _thing_ being arrested,” she spits at R.K. “She doesn’t even feel anything! None of you do!”

“Shut your fuckin’ mouth, before I shut it for you.” Gavin’s steps between her and R.K. “Lydia Groves, you’re under arrest for illicitly assaulting an android and obstructing the course of justice. As a witness, Madeline has given us evidence supporting her statement, and it will be used in her defence against you in court.”

Gavin’s still not satisfied when he locks the handcuffs around her wrists, so he adds, “And if you talk to my partner like that again, I’m gonna have you locked up for the rest of your life.”

He technically can’t do that, but it’s worth the threat just to see the horror in Ms. Groves’s eyes, and hear R.K’s soft chuckle on the car ride back to Detroit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first scene with the bullet wound is once again inspired by [Donlemefo.](http://donlemefo.tumblr.com/) This [picture](http://donlemefo.tumblr.com/post/175923433073/) here.


	10. Stay

“So you arrested the ex-wife, huh? The real suspect was a human all along.” Hank doesn’t sound surprised. His tone is full of its usual cynicism. “What’re you doing with the architect?”

“He’s serving time for firing at an officer. We tried to get him on intent to kill, but he’s one of the rich ones, y’know. Good lawyers, good bail, all that shit,” Gavin adds bitterly from his perch on the edge of Anderson’s desk. “Doubt he’ll get more than a few fuckin’ years.”

“And the android? Madeline?”

“She’s off scot-free, poor kid didn’t do anythin’ wrong, after all. R said she’s taking over Groves’s company while he’s on the inside.”

Hank shakes his head. “Startin’ to feel sorry for these androids, stuck on this godforsaken planet with us screw-ups.”

“What d’you mean, starting to,” Gavin scoffs. “You’ve been soft on the tin cans from the beginning. Or don’t you remember letting robo-twink trail you around like a fuckin’ Jack Russell before the revolution?”

“Oh, sure, you can fuckin’ talk,” and Gavin knows he’s made a huge mistake, opening his big fucking mouth, when he catches that glint in Hank’s eyes. “It’s not like you’ve had a raging hard-on for Mr. Turtleneck since the second he walked in here, right?”

“Keep your fuckin’ voice down,” Gavin bites out, glancing at R.K warily across the bullpen, where he stands talking with Connor. “And no, I haven’t, not that it’s any of your fuckin’ business. He’s an arrogant prick.”

“Match made in heaven, then.” Hank snorts when Gavin elbows him. “Cool it, Reed. Don’t pretend you can’t handle a little playground teasing. Besides, I think he likes you too.”

Gavin scowls. Chews on the inside of his lip. Then caves. “What makes you say that?”

Hank shrugs, reclined back in his desk chair with his arms folded. “Well, he hasn’t quit your sorry ass yet. And you ain’t exactly the nicest guy in the world, so I guess that’s sayin’ something.”

“Very funny,” Gavin mutters. His brows furrow when his gaze returns to R.K. He watches as he and Connor take one another’s forearm, the synthetic skin thawing away to reveal the white shell of their casing beneath. “The fuck are they doing?”

“Hell knows,” Hank answers, with the tone of a man who’s been privy to the same weird shit for a while now and no longer cares to know the details. “Think it’s a bonding thing, like sharing memories without having to probe them or somethin’. Connor tried to explain it once, but I switched off. He just spewed a load of software and coding bullshit, I can’t listen to that crap.”

“Yeah,” Gavin answers distantly, observing the white, porcelain-like texture of R.K’s arm as the skin coating spreads away at Connor’s touch.

Connor’s doing that blinky thing he does whenever he has to make a wireless report or connects with something that makes his LED start to flash. R.K just has a slightly vague look in his eyes, like he’s noticed something in the distance he’s trying to focus on.

He can suddenly feel Hank scrutinising him, though he doesn’t give the older man the satisfaction of looking away. “What.”

“Y’know, being with an android ain’t so bad.”

The shock of the Lieutenant’s almost-confession makes Gavin’s head snap around to him. He’d presumed, of course – Connor and Anderson weren’t always as subtle as they thought, and Gavin liked to think he was a good enough detective to have picked out all the signs. But actually _hearing_ Hank say it aloud is jarring, unexpected, and worst of all, it makes a tiny, treacherous ember of hope catch fire in his chest. “Why the fuck are you tellin’ me that?”

Hank shrugs again, but he’s fixed Gavin with this sympathetic, knowing look. “Just sayin’. Might not hurt to buck up and lose some of that pride of yours, give things a chance. Might be the best decision you ever make.”

Before Gavin’s brain can even muster a response, the little _clack-clack_ of Connor’s shoes warns him that the android is approaching them. Hank nudges Gavin until he’s standing, in order to make room at the desk.

“Congratulations on closing the case, Detective Reed,” Connor says, taking his seat opposite the Lieutenant. “Nine told me you were the one who pieced together the evidence and found Lydia Groves guilty of staging the assault.”

Some snide comeback is about to leave Gavin’s mouth, but then Hank catches his eye, and everything the man said rushes over Gavin again, and he reigns in his tongue before it runs away with him.

“Team effort,” Gavin says instead, though he can’t look Connor in the eye while he does. Baby steps. “R’s a good cop.”

Connor fucking _beams_ , and Gavin doesn’t know whether it’s the sight of that, or the way Hank looks at him when he does it that makes him want to throw up. Probably both. He makes himself scarce before he has to be part of the scene a moment longer, and he shirks down at his own desk with a shudder.

“I swear to God, those two are gonna give me fuckin’ cavities,” he gripes to R.K, who raises a questioning eyebrow in the pair’s direction. “Seriously, you should’ve seen Anderson before that android got here, that dumb smile on his face never saw the light of day. Now I gotta look at the fuckin’ thing twenty-four-seven.” But his tone is without bite, and it’s clear that R.K knows it.

“From what I’ve heard of the Lieutenant’s previous reputation, he seems considerably happier now,” the android remarks. “Eight cares about him very much.”

Gavin almost chokes on his own spit. “You can’t just say sappy shit like that,” he mutters. “And Eight? Seriously? You’re doin’ the whole nickname thing too?”

“I’ve learned that personalised nicknames are often applied as a sign of friendship. I rather like using them.”

“Whoa, whoa, don’t do that, you fuckin’ creep,” Gavin warns, disturbed and side-eying the android. “Connor said that to me word for word, how the hell–” He cuts himself off when he notices R.K’s conceited little smile. “Asshole! You fuckin’ knew he said that to me. What, smartass, you think you can freak me out or somethin’?”

“Yes, I do,” R.K retorts, all blue eyes and self-satisfaction. “And it seems to have worked."

“Asshole.”

“So you’ve said.” Gavin can’t help watching him again, as R.K glances around the station; taking in their colleagues, the desks, the glass walls of the office. He grants Gavin a small, genuine smile. “The case has been closed. An overall successful month, barring a few minor setbacks.”

“What, like assaulting me on the first day?”

“I was going to say getting shot at Michael Groves’s house, but I suppose an apology may be in order for our first meeting,” R.K muses, before his smile turns significantly slyer. “On your end, I mean. You were being rather rude, so I feel _my_ reaction was completely justified.”

“Prick,” Gavin mutters, but he knows he’s grinning.

“ _Plastic_ prick, I believe you said. You do realise that we’re not actually made out of plastic.”

“Don’t give a fuck what you’re made out of, you’re still a prick.”

“And you’re still rather rude,” R.K says with a feigned sigh. “It seems neither of us has changed much over the course of our partnership, then. A pity. Though I suppose–”

“Oh fuck.” Gavin stares at the entrance, barely registering that he’s cut R.K off as he catches sight of Perkins. He watches the son of a bitch, as snooty and self-righteous as Gavin remembers him, try to make his way across a small portion of the station before he’s stopped by their security to fill out a visitor’s form. “Shit. Shit,” Gavin hisses, remembering his conversation with Fowler. “Fucking shit.”

“I doubt Agent Perkins’s presence here is the cause for such colourful language, Detective,” R.K says dryly, also watching the man. Perkins tries to flash his FBI badge at the officers to avoid the paperwork. “Though no one else seems particularly thrilled about him being here, either.”

Perkins accepts a visitor’s pass, reluctantly, and walks by their desks, shooting a conniving wink at Gavin as he passes. His eyes linger for far too long on R, as though he’s a fucking prize at a vanity fair, and Gavin can feel his fingers twitching towards his gun.

“On second thought, curse away,” R.K concedes, an unimpressed eyebrow raised as he observes Perkins climbing the stairs and entering Fowler’s office. “He’s still as much of a shit as last time.”

It crashes over Gavin then, hard and without any mercy, that it’s only been a fucking month and this could already be the last time he sees R.K. It could be the last time he talks with him, bickers with him, or the last time he hears that self-assured voice and that fucking chuckle that makes something in his stomach start doing backflips, or the last time he sees those cold eyes start to soften when Gavin says something that particularly amuses the android, or the last time he actually feels like he has a partner in the DPD, for once in his fucking life, who _gets him_ and _accepts him_ for some fucking reason, and Gavin suddenly can’t fucking bear it, pride be damned.

 _Fuck pride_ , Pulp Fiction’s Marcellus Wallace scoffs at him in his head. _Pride only hurts, it never helps_.

“Don’t go.”

R.K’s head tilts at Gavin’s sudden desperation. “Detective?”

“Just…” Gavin curses himself for not knowing the right words for this situation, for not knowing how to handle it, for not being fucking prepared, but there’s no time anymore. “Just don’t fuckin’ go. You’re gonna get called in there,” Gavin jerks his head towards Fowler’s office, “and Perkins is gonna offer you a sweet fucking deal, and the smart thing to do is accept and never take a second fuckin’ look at this place, and I fucking know that. But just… don’t.”

“Detective, what is this–”

“Just don’t, just… stay.” Gavin’s grabbed his wrist. R.K’s jacket is soft and the skin beneath is warm through the fabric, and Gavin can see Fowler and Perkins talking behind the glass walls out of the corner of his eye. “It’s your choice, it’s obviously your fuckin’ choice, and I get that, but I… I want you to stay. I want you to stay.”

R.K’s reaching to take his hand, where it’s gripping the android’s sleeve, before Fowler ducks his head out from the door and yells across the bullpen.

“R.K! Get in here!”

The android stays where he is for a few seconds, glancing over whatever’s on Gavin’s face. Fear? Hope? The knowledge that he’d trade pretty much anything right now if it meant that Perkins didn’t get his slimy, fucking hands on the first partner Gavin’s ever wanted to see stay? Gavin has no idea.

He watches, with a tight jaw and tense shoulders, as R.K stands and strides up the stairs into the Captain’s office. But Gavin can’t force himself to watch the meeting. The last thing he wants to see is that triumphant, shitty smirk on Perkins’s face when R.K accepts his offer of a transfer.

He grabs his jacket instead, and just leaves. Ignores Connor’s curious stare and Anderson’s, “The fuck you goin’, Reed?” and slips into the elevator, rides it down to street level while the fucking speakers fitted into the ceiling drone classical music at him; _the notes_ _methodical_ and _the structure_ _precise_ and it mocks Gavin the whole way down.

The DPD’s entrance doors glide open, and Gavin walks out into a bluster of wind and the early afternoon chill.

He barely walks twenty steps down the street, just needing to be somewhere _else_ besides that fucking office, before he slumps down on one of the benches near the precinct. “Fuck this,” he mutters to himself, perhaps a little too loudly. An old lady with a dachshund shoots him a dirty look as she walks by.

He ignores her, takes out his phone to distract himself when he sees a text from Hank, and three from Chen.

 

 _\-----------------------------_ Wednesday 24th May, 2039 (PM) _\-----------------------------_

 **Lt. Dickwad**  
_(13:09)  
_ something happen?

 

 _\-----------------------------_ Wednesday 24th May, 2039 (PM) _\-----------------------------_

 **Tina**  
_(12:56)_  
Heads up, just saw Dick Perkins in the lobby

 _(13:01)_  
Yo just saw you sulk off, wtf is going on?  
Perkins say something?

 _(13:06)_  
Know we haven’t talked much these last  
few weeks. Sorry I shit talked robo boy B4.  
I can tell you rlly like him and he actually  
seems ok. Hope everythings ok x

 

Gavin feels this disgusting, unwelcome lump in his throat, and he texts back before he fully realises his fingers are moving.

 

 **Gavin**  
_(13:11)_  
I’m good

 _(13:11)_  
just needed some air

 **Tina**  
_(13:11)_  
Ok

 _(13:12)_  
You’ll let me know if I need to punch  
anyone tho? (ง'̀-'́)ง

 **Gavin**  
_(13:12)_  
Sure

 

Fuck Perkins. Everyone knows the guy’s anti-android; ever since the revolution, he’s had no problem voicing his opinions about them loud and clear. And now he seems to have had a convenient change of heart, just as R.K successfully closes his first case with the DPD. “Fuckin’ prick.”

Gavin’s about to shove the phone back in his pocket, when he spots R.K’s name in his listed messages. He knows it’s a bad idea, considering the fucking android’s the reason he skulked out here to be alone in the first place. But Gavin’s always had shitty impulse control, and he opens up their last conversation and scrolls through greedily.

 

 _\-----------------------------_ Sunday 21st May, 2039 (PM) _\-----------------------------_

 **R.K**  
_(21:31)_  
I have a question.

 **Gavin**  
_(21:32)_  
shoot

 **R.K**  
_(21:32)_  
If Uma Thurman truly wishes to kill this  
‘Bill’, then surely the most efficient means  
would be a long-range weapon?

 _(21:33)_  
A sniper, perhaps?

 **Gavin**  
_(21:33)_  
dipshit you’re missing the point

 **R.K**  
_(21:33)_  
Enlighten me.

 **Gavin**  
_(21:34)_  
if she just topped Bill straight out, she wouldn’t  
 get closure. it’s a revenge story, the whole  
point is the journey there

 _(21:35)_  
plus it’d be a shit movie if she just shot the  
guy there and then. bang, dead, roll credits

 **R.K**  
_(21:36)_  
I see.

 **Gavin**  
_(21:38)_  
you don’t like it?

 **R.K**  
_(21:39)_  
Quite the contrary. The characters are rather  
intriguing, and the dialogue is well written.

 _(21:39)_  
I merely assumed, since she seems so set on  
murdering this man, that she’d find a less  
complicated way of going about it.

 **Gavin**  
_(21:40)_  
that’s humans for you

 _(21:41)_  
give us something simple, we’ll complicate it

 **R.K**  
_(21:42)_  
You do tend to make things far harder for  
yourselves than they need to be.

 **Gavin**  
_(21:42)_  
yeah we’re all fuckups

 **R.K**  
_(21:42)_  
Not all of you.

 _(21:43)_  
Putting aside your complete disregard for  
manners of any kind, you’re doing remarkably  
well for yourself.

 **Gavin**  
_(21:43)_  
my heart is full of joy and gratitude

 _(21:43)_  
凸凸

 

Shit, Gavin was going to miss this. Not that he’d admit it in a million years, but he was really going to fucking miss this. It had been so long since he’d actually liked someone enough to do this with; actually talk about his interests, waiting around on his couch in front of the TV, with Mia on his lap and his knee bouncing in anticipation for the next buzz of his phone.

 

 **R.K**  
_(21:56)_  
They’re using these samurai swords completely  
incorrectly.

 **Gavin**  
_(21:56)_  
I am so done with you rn

 **R.K**  
_(21:57)_  
You’d expect after all her supposed years of  
training, she’d at least be able to hold a sword  
properly.

 **Gavin**  
_(21:58)_  
I hate you

 **R.K**  
_(21:58)_  
: )

 **Gavin**  
_(21:59)_  
jesus fucking christ I hate you

 _(22:15)_  
movie over?

 **R.K**  
_(22:15)_  
Yes. Thank you for the recommendation,  
I enjoyed it.

 **Gavin**  
_(22:16)_  
its not tarantinos best, but still a classic

 **R.K**  
_(22:17)_  
What would you suggest I watch next?

 **Gavin**  
_(22:17)_  
jackie brown or hateful eight

 **R.K**  
_(22:18)_  
Not Pulp Fiction?

 **Gavin**  
_(22:18)_  
nah you gotta work your way up to it. worst  
to best

 **R.K**  
_(22:19)_  
The Hateful Eight it is, then.

 _(23:06)_  
Effective poison does not take this long to kill  
someone, Detective. This is highly inaccurate.

 **Gavin**  
_(23:07)_  
you’re such a fuck, just watch the movie

 

“Detective?”

Gavin flinches, and his thumb instinctively swipes his screen back to the menu display.

R.K’s standing off to the side, jacket discarded and arms crossed over his chest, creating the illusion of being cold. It’s something that all androids seem to be equipped with, for some fucking reason. And without the jacket, without the blue triangle or the **android** letters in bold print, there’s only the LED reminding Gavin that R.K’s an android at all. Since the revolution, the differences between them and humans seem to be diminishing before Gavin’s eyes day by day.

“May I sit?”

Gavin shrugs, stiff and childish and trying to look like he doesn’t give as many fucks as he actually does. But R.K takes it as permission. He perches beside him on the bench, back ramrod straight and palms flat against his thighs.

The android doesn’t speak again, and Gavin realises that he’s giving him space. Keeping him company, _checking up_ on him, but not forcing him to talk. It’s annoying. It’s thoughtful. It’s kind. And shit, Gavin is really, really going to fucking miss him.

“Look, what I said before,” Gavin begins, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck in discomfort. “Just forget about it, you guys won your freedom and all that shit. I shouldn’t have a say in what you do, don’t even know why I said it. You’ll do good in the FBI,” he adds. It hurts like a bitch but he knows it’s the truth. “Put all those other assholes to shame, ‘specially Perkins.”

R.K hums. “Yes, I would,” he says, humble as ever, and Gavin manages a weak smirk in response. “I have declined his offer, however, so I suppose we’ll never know.”

Gavin’s head whips to him. “You fuckin’ what?”

“I declined.” R.K cocks his head, as though confused by Gavin’s shock. But there’s that barely-there smile twitching at the corner of his mouth, and Gavin’s heart is going to fucking burst, he swears to God. “Rather adamantly, in fact. I do not think Agent Perkins was pleased.”

“You–” Gavin’s attention is abruptly drawn to the DPD’s entrance as Perkins storms through the doors, expression like he’s just had something forced up his ass, dry. He skulks to his car, pauses when he spots Gavin and R.K on the bench, and Gavin has to hold himself back from flipping the man off. Perkins mutters something under his breath as he wrenches his car door open, and he slams it behind him.

“ _Not pleased?_ R, he looks fuckin’ constipated, what the hell did you say to him?”

“Well, he offered me a rather comfortable position in the FBI as you warned,” R.K explains. “And I took a phrase from your book in response.”

“Yeah?”

R’s smile widens into something dry and conceited and _gorgeous_. “I told him to go fuck himself.”

Gavin throws his head back and laughs. He can’t help it. “Fuckin’ maniac,” he manages to choke out. “D’you know how much FBI douchebags get paid?”

“I have no need for a pay rise,” R.K says, watching Perkins’s car speed away with a content expression.

“What, not even to upkeep that fancy apartment of yours.?”

“It’s perfectly affordable on my current salary.”

“R, what the fuck.” Gavin’s shaking his head, in disbelief and relief and seriously, his heart’s actually about to burst, and he’s grinning like a fucking moron, and he _doesn’t give a shit_. “The fuckin’ FBI, you dumbass, you could’ve been a–” He cuts himself off. It doesn’t matter what the android could’ve done, he’s staying. He’s fucking _staying_. “What’d Fowler say?”

“The Captain seemed content with my decision,” R.K answers, sounding far too casual for how fucking _happy_ Gavin feels right now. “He offered me a permanent position in the DPD as an alternative. So.” The android tilts his head at Gavin, “You wouldn’t happen to know of any assholes in need of a partner?”

Gavin scoffs. “You been watchin’ too many fucking movies.” But he lounges back against the bench, giddy with relief, and he’s sure his smile is about to split his goddamn face in half. “Yeah. Yeah, I might know of someone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to extend the amount of chapters, make room for all the smut and feelings at the end of this slow burn bitch.


	11. 2 months later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Or this chapter's alternative title - Gavin is a thirsty little bitch.

“I don’t know which side of the bed you woke up on this morning, Wilson, but it was the wrong fuckin’ one,” Gavin bites out, restraining the urge to knock his fellow officer upside the head. “You called us in to help you out on this, and I’m givin’ you a solid grade A plan of attack. It’ll work, so stop fuckin’ questioning me.”

“Fuck sake, Reed, this is crazy,” Wilson mutters in response, looking sceptically between Gavin and the android.

They’re in the lobby of a building on 3rd Street, waiting to enter the AXIS lounge and get the dealers in their sights. Red Ice suppliers; a notorious group that the DPD have been after for _weeks_. A tipoff from one of the workers at the club told them that the gang frequented the joint for business deals, and usually arrived by nine PM to stay for several hours.

If the tipoff is solid, they could shut down a major drugs operation for good that night. Which is why Gavin is gritting his teeth in exasperation while Wilson fights him on his plan. “Wilson, I swear to fucking God–”

“It’s too risky! It’ll never work, Gavin, not in a million years! We should just bust ‘em straight up, soon as they walk in.”

“I gotta back Wilson up on this one, man,” Andy, the traitor, says hesitantly. “I mean, I know he’s like a state-of the-art android and all, but–”

“Oh, I’m sorry, have you been workin’ with him for three months? Been in the field with him, had a perfect closed-case record?” Gavin grants both humans the most vindictive look he can muster, and feels a shitty surge of self-satisfaction when no one answers him. “Yeah, that’s what I fuckin’ thought.”

“Officer Wilson, Officer Brown,” R.K begins calmly. “Know that I’m squeezing every ounce of respect I have for Detective Reed completely dry when I say it,” he effortlessly dodges the kick that Gavin aims for his shin, “but there is a high probability that his plan will succeed. It may be rash and ill-thought-out, but I believe that guile over force is necessary. Undercover is our best option if we wish to see evidence of a Red Ice trade with our own eyes.”

“You fuckin’ see?” Gavin says to Wilson, purposely ignoring his partner’s _rash_ and _ill-thought-out_ remarks. “Me and R can handle this. We can pass for buyers no problem, and you and Andy can keep a look out while we play it cool. Quit bein’ such pussies, both of you.”

“I dunno, man…” Wilson begins, looking R.K up and down, and Gavin feels his tolerance for their temporary partners wear even thinner. “Has he ever even been undercover before? I mean, you need some sort of experience.”

R.K laces his hands behind his back, projecting the patience that Gavin no longer has. “I assure you both, this is as good a plan as we’ll be able to execute within the limited timeframe we have. Detective Reed knows what he’s doing,” he adds, giving Gavin a nod, “and I was built for such tasks as negotiation. I was not programmed to fail.”

“So Wilson,” Gavin says pointedly, “stop your bitching, and Andy sort out your fuckin’ hair. And what kind of pervert wears a check shirt to a club, man, what the fuck.”

Not wanting to hazard waiting around to give them any more time to argue, Gavin turns and heads for the doorway leading to the main area of the AXIS lounge. R.K follows him closely, and Gavin has to battle the impulse to stare at him like a total creep for the hundredth time that evening.

He’s never seen the android out of that fucking turtleneck before, but now he thinks it was for a good reason. R.K’s throat is on show, as pale and flawless as the rest of him, and Gavin can’t for the life of him stop glancing at it. Or at the rest of him, for that matter. He’s dressed mostly in black; black boots, tight jeans that make his legs look like they go on for goddamn _miles_ , and a white shirt that hugs every perfect fucking curve of his shoulders and arms. Gavin hadn’t even thought R.K owned other clothes, but here they fucking were.

It’s disconcerting, too, to see R without his LED. When Wilson had asked Gavin to help out with the bust, he’d refused to leave the precinct without his partner. Wilson argued that the android would give them away, but then R.K had simply picked up the nearest pair of scissors and jimmied the LED loose from the crest of his brow. _Lead the way, Detective_ , he’d said, and Gavin had laughed at Wilson’s expression for the entire drive downtown.

Still, Gavin isn’t sure if he likes it. R.K’s always hard to read, but at least with the LED there, Gavin had had some indication of the basic emotions. Blue: content. Yellow: processing or confused. Red: something was wrong. It had always been as simple as that, but now there’s nothing to draw from.

“We’re looking for four men,” R.K says, voice low as they make their way down the corridor, Wilson and Brown trailing behind. “Henrik Brandt: the head of the operation. Mid-fifties, grey hair and green eyes. His right-hand man: name unknown, though he should be recognisable by way of a cobra tattoo on the left side of his neck. And finally, Brandt’s bodyguards: Karl and Eriksen Lund. Early thirties, blonde hair.”

“Why’re you tellin’ me this, dipshit,” Gavin hisses as they reach the doors to the lounge. “I read the fucking case file, I know who we’re lookin’ for.”

“It never hurts to be prepared,” R.K muses, infuriatingly level-headed at his side. “And you humans do have an incredibly short attention-span. I thought it best to ensure you were as informed as possible.” Before Gavin can retort, R.K takes the handle and opens the door, gesturing for him to go first. “After you.”

“Damn right, after me,” Gavin mutters under his breath, trying not to focus on how well R.K’s shirt fits him as he brushes past the android.

The low, pulsing bass of the music hits him the second he steps through the doors. It’s dimly lit, as most clubs like this usually are; the lighting is tinged purple, matching the cushions on the bar stools and reflecting in the glass of the drinks and tables. The place is crowded considering it’s still early; people dressed to impress in glitter and tight-fitting dresses, or in suits and shirts and polished shoes. Gavin realises he hasn’t made as much of an effort with his wardrobe as he probably should have, though he doesn’t stick out enough to attract any sideways glances. R.K, though, blends in about as well as a wolf blends in with sheep.

He’s taller than almost anybody else there; looming and poised and plain _sinful_ in that white shirt. Gavin realises he’s staring again, and he’s fallen behind as R.K heads straight to the bar in an attempt to seem like an ordinary patron. _Don’t attract attention_ , Gavin reminds himself.

“Left of the bar, over by the mirror,” Gavin mutters to Wilson and Andy. “That should give you a good scope of the room. Stay there, watch our backs. Signal us if you see anythin’.”

They nod their assent and pair off, heading to the booth near the mirror whilst Gavin joins R.K at the bar. There’s a drink waiting for him, an old fashioned, and he frowns as R.K finishes talking to the bartender; a skinny girl – Gavin assumes they’re a girl at least, but he could be wrong – with shocking white hair and tattoos trailing along their arms. They retreat to the far end of the bar, and R.K gives Gavin a smile.

“For you,” the android clarifies, sliding the drink closer. “We should, in your own words, act natural. And I doubt one drink will hurt. Your alcohol tolerance is high enough.”

Gavin would ask how the fuck R.K knows his alcohol tolerance, but he’s certain he’ll get some convoluted answer that he won’t understand. “How’d you know what I’d like?” he asks instead, genuinely curious.

“I didn’t,” R.K answers. “The ingredients reminded me of you, so I thought I’d order one.”

Gavin smirks, taking a sip. “What, neat and classic?”

“Bitter and occasionally difficult to swallow,” R.K corrects. “Though I suppose your interest in Tarantino movies does make you something of a classic, if that’s how you’d prefer to see yourself.”

“Fuck you,” Gavin chuckles while he tries not to choke on his drink, nudging R with his shoulder. “You’re such an asshole.”

“Pot, meet kettle.” R.K peers around the lounge, and Gavin can’t help just… _taking him in_ while he does. The fucking mood lighting isn’t helping, either. It makes R’s eyes look darker, makes his cheekbones stand out more and catches on the sharp edge of his jawline in a way that’s making Gavin’s knees feel weak. Fuck. “No sign on our suspects as of yet. White told me that Brendt is typically here before nine PM.”

“Who?”

“The bartender,” R.K says, nodding towards the white-haired mixologist. “It never hurts to find out someone’s name, I’ve found. Especially since I rather appreciate having my own now.”

Gavin wishes to hell that R would stop smiling at him like that. Yet at the same time, he sees it so rarely he feels like he should savour it while he can. Shit, he sounds like something from a shitty rom com.

Gavin takes a bigger sip of the old fashioned, letting the bitterness seep into his tongue and silently ordering himself to get his fucking shit together. They’re on a fucking job; ogling his partner should be the last thing on his iota. Gavin puts it down to months of not getting laid, and it doesn’t help that his partner is six-foot-one of sex on legs; with that fucking mouth, and that dumb tuft of hair that’s always hanging over his forehead like Clark fucking Kent.

When he tears his eyes away, Gavin has sense enough to glance at the entrance, and that’s when their suspects walk in. “R.”

“I see them.”

The group are greeted by one of the waitresses, and led to a large booth in a shady corner of the establishment.

Gavin makes sure that Wilson and Andy have seen them too, and have a good view of their suspects’ table. He can’t signal them to call back-up or a squad car yet, not without physical evidence of a Red Ice deal, and the only shifty thing the men have done so far is enter the place.

“Well, there’s our creepy cobra tattoo,” Gavin remarks, sighting the dark pattern snaking its way up the side of the tallest man’s neck. “Looks like these are our guys.”

“I suggest we wait before approaching them. If we seem too eager, it may arouse their suspicion.”

“We’ll give it twenty minutes. Give ‘em a chance to settle in, have a few drinks before they’re spendin’ the rest of their lives getting ass-fucked in downtown’s prison showers.”

“A charming image.”

Gavin takes another sip of his old fashioned, before he frowns down at the half empty glass. “Feels weird drinkin’ alone. Shit, this how Anderson feels? It’s fuckin’ sad.”

There’s a pause, and then the glass is plucked from under his nose, and R’s bringing it to his lips, taking a generous taste.

“Whoa, whoa, hey,” Gavin warns, too late as R.K lowers the cocktail and hands it back to him. “You can actually drink that, right? It’s not gonna mess up your insides or whatever?”

“Androids are fitted with an internal modulator that detoxifies and defuses any harmful liquids,” R assures him. “I cannot become intoxicated, but I can drink in moderate amounts. It’s probably not a good idea to overindulge the habit, but I doubt one drink will majorly affect my systems.”

Gavin absorbs the information, then, cautiously, slides the old fashioned back in R.K’s direction. “CyberLife thought of everythin’, huh. Is there anything that _would_ make you drunk?” he asks as an afterthought. “Somethin’ that, I dunno, could get through your system enough to make you feel it?”

“I doubt it,” R answers, studying the cocktail. “Since alcohol is technically considered ‘dangerous’, I have fail-proof defences to combat its effects.”

“Shit,” Gavin says, “sucks to be you. Bein’ drunk ain’t so bad most of the time.”

“I wouldn’t know. Though I imagine I’d prefer to keep a clear head anyway, whether I had the option or not.”

“Boring.”

“Practical,” R.K amends, but he looks amused. “However, I do not mind indulging a little. If you’d rather not drink alone.”

Gavin doesn’t know why the thought happens or where the ever-merciful fuck it comes from, but in that second he imagines kissing him, sudden and hard and deep. He wants to taste the whiskey on R’s lips, wants to curl his fingers through that fucking hair and see how real it feels against his palms. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_. This cannot be fucking happening. He’s always fallen too hard, too fast, and it’s never worked out because Gavin either always fucks it up, or he always falls for the wrong kind of guy who ends up fucking him over.

“Eriksen’s moving.” R.K’s voice snaps him back to reality, and Gavin forces himself not to whip around to look and expose their cover. “He’s coming to the bar.”

***

Within ten minutes, Gavin and R.K are sitting opposite Henrik Brandt in the dealer’s booth. Watching R.K work was a fucking masterpiece, and for once Gavin isn’t too proud to admit as much. For all his usual emotional constipation, the second he’d engaged Eriksen Lund at the bar, R had become a totally different person. Open, charming, although confident and composed as ever. It had never been clearer that the RK-series specialised in negotiation. The android had gained Eriksen’s trust in seconds, and they had been invited over to Brandt’s table to hash out a deal.

Gavin had made a signal to Wilson and Andy on the way over, warning them to discreetly call for back-up. He was certain these were their men, and certain they would have evidence of Red Ice soon enough.

It’s going well, and they have the suspects’ trust. All until the subject of money comes up, and suddenly cobra tattoo is scowling at them from his seat beside Brandt on the other side of the table.

“I don’t know why you’re arguing with us,” R.K muses. “Our price is perfectly reasonable.”

“My stuff is pure, yeah,” Brandt sneers, eyes narrowed at R.K as though the android had just insulted his mother or something. “Pure and off the fuckin’ market, and you have the fuckin’ nerve to haggle with me?”

“From what I hear, your stuff ain’t any more special than all the other shit in circulation,” Gavin says, picking up on R.K’s play. If they question that quality of the Red Ice, Brandt might be coerced into physically bringing out the drugs for them to sample. They’d have their evidence, clear as day. “If that’s the case, you’re asking for way too much. You’re overpriced and you fuckin’ know it.”

“The fuck did you just say to me?” Brandt spits out, hand squeezing around his whisky hard enough to make cracks appear in the glass tumbler. Gavin isn’t intimidated. He’s been dealing with fuckheads like Brandt for far too long to be scared by shit like this anymore. “You little fuck–”

“What my partner said, Mr. Brandt,” R.K cuts across, lacing those hands together atop the table; all long fingers and pale skin and– and fucking _shit_ , Gavin needs to get his shit together right fucking now, “is that you’re overpriced. I would have assumed after all your self-confessed years of experience at the ‘top of the drugs trade’, you would be more skilled at negotiations,” he adds shittily, because Gavin knows that the gorgeous idiot can’t fucking help himself when he’s on a roll. “However, it seems I was mistaken.”

Brandt gapes, Karl and Eriksen gape, but cobra tattoo seems to snap out of his shock first. He hasn’t spoken yet, but he’s the biggest, the tallest of the four dealers, even towering over R.K from where he sits opposite.

Cobra tattoo growls, glaring across at R with what Gavin presumes is supposed to be a threatening expression. “I beg your fuckin’ pardon?”

R.K simply crosses one leg over the other, calm and composed and _beautiful_ , and he levels the man with that cold smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “Then beg.”

Gavin’s certain he’s going to get a hard-on in the middle of a fucking drugs deal. So he’s almost thankful that shit hits the fan when and where it does. _Almost_.

“Just couldn’t keep your smart fuckin’ mouth shut, could you,” he says bitterly, knuckles split, cheek bruised, and wrist aching when he brings a cigarette to his lips. He doesn’t smoke often as a general rule, but he fucking needs one after this bullshit evening.

“We did arrest the suspects,” R.K points out, sat neatly beside him – or as neat as he can be, considering he’s covered in small, dispersed splatterings of his own thirium – outside the AXIS lounge. It’s dark now, and there are officers and the red-blue flashes of squad car lights and police tape cordoning off the area behind them as Brandt and his men are escorted away. “Which, I’ll remind you, is what Officer Wilson and Officer Brown were aiming for when they invited us along. Mission accomplished.”

“Yeah, we got ‘em arrested for pulling their fuckin’ guns on us. What we were _aiming_ to do,” Gavin emphasises pointedly, “was bust them for dealing. Not for a fuckin’ shootout.”

“There will undoubtedly be evidence of Red Ice on them,” R.K answers, maddeningly calm at his side, and their shoulders are pressed together. “And now that they’ve been officially arrested, we won’t need a warrant to search them or their residences. So I’ll say again–”

“Yeah, yeah, mission accomplished.” Gavin shoves R.K’s arm with his own, and takes another, long drag of his cigarette. “Whoop-de-fucking-do. You’re such an asshole.”

“I could have joined the FBI,” R.K muses, but there’s a smile in his voice, and Gavin scoffs.

“Like anyone else’d be able to put up with your shit.”

“I’m a delight.”

“You’re a fuckin’ maniac, and you know it.” Gavin takes a final drag, watches the smoke swirl leisurely against the dark skyline. “Y’know, I thought the whole point of you was to work all the kinks outta Connor. Improve him? Not make him fuckin’ worse.”

R.K hums, thoughtful, before giving a slight shrug that jostles Gavin’s shoulder. “It’s possible that someone may have, to borrow a phrase from you, fucked up somewhere. Though with CyberLife under new management now, I suppose we’ll never know.”

Gavin smirks, flicks his cigarette to the floor and gets to his feet. “C’mon,” he says, stretching out his spine and wincing when he hears about four different things pop. “Let’s get back to the station. Get this fuckin’ paperwork over with. You’re doin’ it, by the way,” he adds as they walk side by side to one of the squad cars. “This is your fuckin’ fault.”

“I thought the definition of partnership was _working together_ ,” the android says dryly. “This is as much your fault as mine.”

“How the fuck d’you figure that? I ain’t the one they pulled their guns on.”

“But you _are_ the one who called Mr. Brandt a cunt. I imagine that was why he fired in the first place.”

Gavin huffs stubbornly. “Fine. You do _half_ the fuckin’ paperwork, and if Fowler starts giving me shit, you’re taking the blame.”

R.K chuckles, “As you say, Detective,” and something in Gavin’s stomach starts simmering, hot and cruel and exciting, when the backs of their hands brush, and he wishes to Christ that he was fucking brave enough to just thread their fucking fingers together.

Shit. It’s been like this, relentless and incredible and downright _painful_ , for two months now. Two fucking months. And as they both slide into the back of the squad car, and R’s knee bumps against his own, Gavin firmly decides that he really needs to sit the fuck down and figure this shit out.


	12. Love is a bitch

It’s July, Friday evening, and at 1323-1325 Broadway St, Detroit, in apartment eight on the thirteenth floor, Gavin is about to pull his gun on his cat.

“Mia, I swear to fuckin’ God–”

Too late. He presses his eyes closed as the sound of shattering crockery fills his kitchen. A groan leaves his throat, and he glares daggers at the feline perched on the counter; all innocent blue eyes and cute dark smudges around her nose, but Gavin knows goddamn better.

“That’s the third cup this week, you little fuck.”

Mia doesn’t look at him. She licks her paw instead, and rubs it behind her ear to let him know that she quite frankly doesn’t give a shit.

“You better fucking behave yourself if this thing happens, or I’m makin’ you into a rug.”

The cat’s ear twitches, not exactly in reassurance. But Gavin doesn’t have the patience to fully explain everything to her.

It’s been a few days since their last job. A few days of him going over and over how this situation might play out; the pros and the cons, the fallout if something should go wrong, how much longer he can actually take any of this and bear not doing something about it. He has his phone in his hand, and he’s leaning against the far counter between the stove and the utensil drawers, and it’s at that point where Gavin realises he’s quite literally backed into a corner. How fucking poetic.

He takes a deep breath, brings up his contacts.

Overthinks. Hesitates.

He texts Chen instead.

 

 _\-----------------------------_ Friday 24th July, 2039 (PM) _\-----------------------------_

 **Gavin**  
_(19:33)_  
don’t say a fuckin word. I need your  
help

 **Tina**  
_(19:33)_  
You still haven’t talked to him have  
you -_-

 **Gavin**  
_(19:34)_  
idk wtf to say

 **Tina**  
_(19:34)_  
You men are so useless

 _(19:34)_  
OK here’s my advice. You ready?

 **Gavin**  
_(19:35)_  
cough it up

 **Tina**  
_(19:35)_  
Stop being a pussy

 _(19:35)_  
Just invite him over. Robo boy likes  
you, dumbass, I’ve been putting up  
with both of your shit for weeks

 **Gavin**  
_(19:36)_  
not helpful shithead

 **Tina**  
_(19:36)_  
Let me know if you guys fuck. I want  
all the juicy deets (✿◠‿◠)

 **Gavin**  
_(19:36)_  
凸凸凸

 

Gavin resists the urge to throw his phone from his window and watch it smash on the road thirteen storeys down. He paces instead, gearing himself up, considering how the fuck to start, what to say. Eventually, he comes to a standstill back in the kitchen.

He bites out Chen’s advice to himself, “Don’t be a fuckin’ pussy, Reed,” and at long last types out a message.

 

 _\-----------------------------_ Friday 24th July, 2039 (PM) _\-----------------------------_

 **Gavin**  
_(19:48)_  
hey you busy?

 

He would be a fucking grown up and call, but he knows he’d lose his nerve. He’s always hated making phone calls, anyway. At least texting means that he can _think through_ what he wants to say. Much less risk of him fucking up that way.

“Don’t you judge me,” Gavin warns as Mia hops down onto the floor and curls around his ankles. “You don’t even have opposable thumbs, if you did you’d understand. I’m tryin’ to be smart about this.”

Mia starts purring as his phone buzzes, and it’s ridiculous how hard his heart is beating as he checks the screen; he can feel every fucking thump hammering through him, like he’s seven-fucking-teen again.

 

 **R**  
_(19:49)_  
Not at all. Did you need something?

 

And Gavin is so, so relieved he decided not to call, because hearing R’s voice right now would probably kill him.

 

 **Gavin**  
bored. if you’ve got nothing else  
to do, we could

 

Gavin deletes the text immediately. Shit, shit. _Just ask what you want to fucking ask_. _Or at least try not to sound like such a dick for once in your life._ Gavin takes another deep breath, and types again.

 

 **Gavin**  
you still haven’t seen pulp fiction  
right?

 

That sounds harmless enough. Gavin sends it.

 

 **Gavin**  
_(19:50)_  
you still haven’t seen pulp fiction  
right?

 **R**  
_(19:50)_  
I haven’t.

 _(19:50)_  
And I apologise if my answer  
traumatises you, Detective.

 _(19:51)_  
I know you still consider this a crime  
of the highest order.

 

Gavin realises he’s smiling like a fucking sap as the replies appear, before he groans aloud again and rubs a hand over his face. Fuck CyberLife, it’s like they’d probed into every little thought Gavin had ever had about a man and used them to piece R.K together; the dark hair and the steely blue eyes and those _legs_ and that teasing lilt to his voice and that _fucking mouth_.

“ _Mrrrow._ ”

“Don’t tell me to get my shit together, Mia. Shut the fuck up.”

 

 **Gavin**  
_(19:51)_  
come over here and watch it then

 

He sends the message before he can second guess himself, trying to ignore the cruel upsurge of anxiety in his gut as he does. Mia paws at his leg, a claw catching on his jeans, and Gavin curses when he nearly drops his phone as it vibrates against his palm.

 

 **R**  
_(19:52)_  
If you’d like.

 _(19:52)_  
As long as you’re sure I wouldn’t be  
imposing?

 

A flood of relief replaces the unease, and Gavin types back quickly now that the hard part’s over and done with.

 

 **Gavin**  
_(19:52)_  
just come over dipshit

 **R**  
_(19:53)_  
Convention dictates that you should be  
polite to your houseguests.

 _(19:53)_  
Is this the kind of attitude and ill-treatment  
I should expect when I do get there?

 **Gavin**  
_(19:53)_  
yes

 _(19:53)_  
凸

 **R**  
_(19:53)_  
I weep with the injustice.

 _(19:54)_  
I’ll see you in 20 minutes.

 

Holy fucking _shit_.

After that, it’s a mad rush to tidy up where he can; laundry, take-out boxes, jackets and socks strewn about, the fucking mug lying in broken shards on the floor. Mia, of course, doesn’t lift a paw to help. “Bitch,” Gavin mutters, when the cat finds a stray pair of socks on the coffee table and lies over them.

He loves his apartment – studio, spacious, living-room/dining-room/kitchen area all open and connected, big windows in there and the bedroom that give him a decent view of the city, floorboards that don’t creak too loudly if you can learn to ignore them – but Gavin’s suddenly and irrationally very _conscious_ of it. And especially of the one wall with no plaster or wallpaper; just open bricks that he’s always thought gave the place a retro-like charm to it, but now he wonders whether he should’ve gotten it covered up. Not like he has the time or the equipment to do it _now_.

“ _Mrrrrrrrow_.”

Gavin has to agree with her. “Yeah, I know it’s stupid, Miss. Obvious. I’m panicking, okay? Let me get it outta my fuckin’ system.”

Mia blinks once, lazily, and watches Gavin pace about the rooms, correcting things here and there; the tension and the nerves steadily building and building and building until there’s a curt knock at the door  _precisely_ twenty minutes after R’s last text.

Gavin unlatches the bolt, and doesn’t have a fucking clue why he expected the android to be in his usual getup, the regulation uniform, but he kind of wishes he was. The black shirt is of course a perfect fit, as are the black trousers and black shoes that look similar to his usual pair, but Gavin assumes they’re different as well. It’s all casual, but somehow still infuriatingly sophisticated; Gavin’s always had a theory that androids are inbuilt with a good sense of fashion, for some reason or other, and this only further fucking proves it.

Gavin remembers that he’s wearing his dad’s old and faded Nirvana t-shirt, and he inwardly grimaces. “Hi.”

“Good evening. The woman downstairs knew who I was.”

Gavin frowns, wary. “What, Lucille?”

“When I took the elevator,” R explains, still standing outside the threshold of the apartment, but Gavin’s too dumbstruck by how _fucking good_ he looks to be able to invite him in. The LED is back at the side of his brow, at least; circling in a calm, reassuring blue. “She said, ‘you must be the young man Detective Reed has been telling me about’. She was nice. A neighbour of yours?”

Gavin grimaces for real this time. “Yeah, I uh… might’ve mentioned you once or twice. Gotta tell someone about how much you piss me off, otherwise it’ll drive me nuts,” he lies through his teeth. Lucille had always been one of the only other occupants in the building he could stand to talk to. So naturally, the first time she had seen him storm in from work, muttering to himself about _stupid eyes_ _and hair and long legs_ , she’d lent a willing ear. Gavin had promptly spewed all the lovesick confusion he’d been holding back for weeks, and now he hoped to God that the older woman hadn’t blown it for him.

“And here I’d always pictured you ranting to your cat,” R.K muses, and Gavin feels his apprehension ease a little. “I hear pets are good listeners.”

“Never been around a cat, have you. They’re shits.”

“I’ll decide that for myself,” R chuckles, before tilting his head in the direction of the door. “Am I still invited or would you prefer to stand here for the evening? I don’t get tired idling around, but I imagine, as a human, that you do.”

Gavin curses himself for blocking the entryway like an idiot, and he steps aside. “Sure. Come in.”

And he soon has to laugh at himself for panicking at all.

The second R’s in his apartment, it’s basically like they’re at work, or at a crime scene, or out somewhere on a break. It’s _easy_. It’s _familiar_. And Mia sees fit to dig a claw into the back of Gavin’s hand as he passes her by, as if she’d known the entire time that there had been no reason to overreact.

“You don’t know shit, cat, leave me alone,” he retorts under his breath, as the android roams around the living room, perfectly calm in the new space. “You, behave,” Gavin adds to the cat, louder, seeing the tip of Mia’s tail start to twitch as R.K comes closer.

“Hello, Mia.” R holds out his hand in greeting, and lets the cat sniff at his fingers cautiously, before she rubs her head against his palm.

“ _Mrrrrow_.”

Gavin snorts. “Wanna know what she did when I first met her? She clawed half my fuckin’ hand off.”

“You’ve clearly taught her some manners since then. How surprising.” R’s head is cocked as he watches Mia curve her whole body up beneath his palm, purring. “I take it this is a good sign?”

“If she’s not got anythin’ sharp in you, it’s a good sign.” Gavin smiles though, kind of proud. It’d probably sound stupid as all hell trying to explain it to anyone without a pet, but introducing them to someone, and what’s more, them actually _liking_ the person, was a pretty big fucking deal. “She likes you. Don’t know why,” he adds shittily, because he can, and because he knows it will make R smile too. “I’m sure she’ll figure out what an asshole you are soon enough. Cats are good like that.”

“Well, she already lives with an asshole,” the android points out, as Mia rolls onto her back atop the counter to reveal her belly, the fucking show off. “She must be well adapted to them by now.”

Gavin leaves R to get the movie ready, while he fixes himself a drink. He’s going to need it if he’s surviving the next three hours sat beside the android; in that fitted shirt and with Mia following him around and purring like R.K is God’s gift to cat-kind. Or maybe she just thinks he looks like a large, portable climbing post.

As an afterthought, he fixes a drink for the android too, remembering that he _can_ drink in small quantities, and Gavin’s always hated drinking alone. He pours a considerably smaller amount than he’s given himself, just in case scotch whisky isn’t as safe as the AXIS lounge’s bourbon.

“I know you can’t really drink, but… well,” he says, _oh-so_  articulately, handing over the glass. “Why not, right?”

R, perched on the edge of the couch, accepts it with a smile. “Thank you. You know this won’t affect me in any way, though.”

“It’ll kid me into thinkin’ I’m not sad enough to be drinking by myself on a Friday night,” Gavin points out, throwing himself down on the opposite end of the couch because he’s a coward. “Mia’s a terrible drinking buddy, anyway. She can’t hold her milk.”

The android chuckles again, and Gavin takes a long, healthy sip of his liquor to try and quash the churning blend of nausea and excitement in his stomach. He relaxes slightly as the familiar opening scene begins to fade into focus on the TV.

As Yolanda and Pumpkin start their robbery, and the opening credits begin to roll, Gavin chances a glimpse at the other end of the couch. R’s sitting straight as always, head angled with interest as he regards the screen. One of his hands is idly scratching behind Mia’s ear where the cat’s come to curl up on his thigh.

Gavin tries to focus on the TV, where Jules and Vincent start to talk about movie theatres in Amsterdam and foot rubs and Royales with Cheese. Though at some point, R leans back against the cushions and Mia stretches out across his legs at the movement, and that, of all the fucking moments, is when Gavin recognises how fucked he might actually be. When he realises that this is a scene he’d very happily like to see for the rest of his fucking life; R, gorgeous and poised on his couch, with Gavin’s bitch of a cat sprawled contentedly out over his lap, watching an old movie with a glass of whisky the android probably can’t even taste.

R makes it a good thirty minutes before he finds his first inaccuracy with the film, and Gavin absolutely does not acknowledge that he’s in love.

“Why would this Marcellus Wallace trust another man with his wife after past events?” The android is frowning, not in distaste, merely in curiosity. “If he’d readily throw a man from a balcony for giving Mia a foot rub, it stands to reason that he’s overly possessive., and therefore it makes no sense for him to ask Vincent to keep Mia company, particularly considering her behaviour the last time he was out of town.”

“Wallace likes to test people. See what happens, make a show of it. Think he enjoys it.”

“An odd hobby. Risking his wife’s fidelity for his own amusement.”

“Yeah,” Gavin agrees, giving Mia a scratch of his own when the cat rubs her head over his knee. Half his drink is gone, and the alcohol’s blessedly starting to work; he feels a lot of the strain in his body start to ease. But his head’s still clear. “And I mean, it’s important to the plot, too. A lot of directors trade in accuracy for the sake of dramatic tension when it comes to a good story.”

“You seem to know rather a lot about movies,” the android remarks, and Gavin comprehends that they’re closer; R’s no longer leaning against the far arm of the couch, and Gavin’s no longer pressing himself into his own corner. One of them must have moved, but he’s not sure who. “Another influence of your father’s?”

Gavin nods, as Vincent and Mia arrive at Jack Rabbit Slim’s, and are greeted by Buddy Holly at their table. “He was really into shit like this. Old movies, camera work, directing, all that stuff. Think he wanted me to get into it professionally,” he adds, reaching over to pluck R’s whiskey glass from the coffee table and take a sip. “He was never disappointed I went to the DPD, but I know it wasn’t what he wanted for me.”

“But he supported your decision?”

“Oh, yeah, he’s proud and all that,” Gavin answers. “Think it’s a dad thing, though. He never followed his dream of getting into film or anythin’, so he figured he’d try and get me to go for it. Things never usually work out like that, though. I dunno,” he says, attention back on the screen when Vincent takes a sip of Mia’s $5 milkshake. “Maybe it was selfish, but police work just felt like the right choice.”

R hums in reply, and he leans across to retrieve his glass and take a thoughtful little sip. “I think it was. You’re an outstanding detective.”

Gavin can barely hear the voices on the TV anymore. But he’s watched this movie so many times he knows it by heart, as Mia and Vincent stare across at one another in their booth.

_‘Don’t you hate that?’_

_‘Hate what?’_

_‘Uncomfortable silences.’_

Gavin forces himself to scoff at the android’s compliment, though he can feel a hot and thrilled flush spreading up the back of his neck. “Outstanding. Sure, if you say so.”

“I do say so.”

_‘Why do we feel it’s necessary to yak about bullshit in order to be comfortable.’_

_‘I don’t know. That’s a good question.’_

 “I’m glad you joined the DPD,” R continues, voice sincere and expression open and Mia’s fallen asleep in the crook of his arm, and Gavin is so desperately, so absurdly in love. “I doubt I’d have met you if you hadn’t. And despite first impressions, I have rather enjoyed meeting you.”

_‘That’s when you know you’ve found somebody really special. When you can just shut the fuck up for a minute and comfortably share silence.’_

_‘Well, I don’t think we’re quite there yet. But don’t feel bad, we just met each other.’_

By the time Vincent and Mia are dancing on the stage, moving their feet to the music to win that trophy, Gavin’s thighs are on either side of R’s hips, and R’s licking into his mouth, and Gavin’s hands are finally buried in that fucking hair.

He doesn’t know which one of them moved this time, either. But he knows that R’s lips taste like whiskey, and his hands are _everywhere_ ; taking Gavin’s jaw, sliding down his neck, his shoulders, snaking under the back of his shirt and pressing against bare skin, and Gavin makes a noise that he is _not_ proud of, but he can hardly find thought to care. R swallows the sound anyway, tongue pressing into him, warm and wet and _fuck_ Gavin has not drunk nearly enough to have been prepared for this. For how fucking _amazing_ it feels.

“I knew I was right,” R says, as he nudges his nose against Gavin’s jaw and presses a kiss beneath it; open-mouthed and canines sinking a small ways into his skin. “When I said humans like to make things harder for themselves.”

Gavin can only make a noise in question, dragging his fingers through R’s hair and tipping his head back to give the android’s mouth more room. “Huh..?”

“If you’d just told me you wanted this, instead of fumbling over it like a child in the AXIS lounge and assuming I didn’t notice, we could have been here a good few days ago. Weeks, perhaps.”

“Fuck–” R bites down properly this time, teeth sharp and hands sliding under Gavin’s t-shirt, against the skin of his lower back, and Gavin nuzzles closer. “ _Fuck_ –”

R’s fingers thread through Gavin’s belt loops to tug him further on top of him. “Eloquent as ever,” he mumbles against him, lips exploring the stubble along Gavin’s jaw and down his neck, and the fingertips of one hand find their way beneath the hem of Gavin’s jeans.

Gavin hands are kneading into R’s hair, pulling, grasping, and every little tug rewards him with another of those open-mouthed kisses to his skin, and these gorgeous, stuttered breaths that the android doesn’t even need to take.

“Oh _shit_ ,” Gavin chokes out, when R’s fingers rake their way down his spine; moving beneath his shirt, making him arch into the touch and grind down against R’s deliciously solid weight. “Fuck, you’re… have you done this before?”

“I have,” and the android sucks a bruise into Gavin’s neck, teeth only bearing down harder when Gavin moans and tightens his grip in R’s hair. R laves his tongue over the aching mark afterwards, as an almost-apology, though the pressure is hard and the sting of it goes straight to Gavin’s cock and he can feel R’s smile pressed against him. “As a matter of fact.”

It takes a moment for the information to catch up with him; R’s hands have roamed around to the front of his shirt, running through the rough hair trailing up his navel, and then sliding over his ribs, and Gavin’s own hands slip beneath the neckline of the android’s shirt to curve over his shoulders. But once it does, it’s enough to tune Gavin out of his lust-driven haze for a moment, and he peers down, which is a huge mistake. R’s hair is a glorious wreck, and his lips are wet and smirking, and his eyes are so dark and so warm that Gavin just stares.

The android mistakes it for confusion. “It really shouldn’t surprise you,” R says, amused, taking one of Gavin’s hands away from his shoulders and pressing two fingertips to his mouth while he speaks. “I was activated six months before we met at the DPD. I had ample time to explore my deviancy before I accepted Eight’s request to join the precinct.”

Gavin can feel himself frowning. He wonders who the fuck else had dared get to be in this position; to get to see R’s pupils wide and his LED flashing like that, to have R’s tongue and teeth running over their fingers, to have teeth marks pressed into their neck. “How many?”

“Only one.”

“And who the fuck was he?”

“ _She_ ,” R corrects. He looks fond, and entertained by Gavin’s petty questions. “And it was only one night. I must confess, I was disinterested in repeating the experience, so I never did. But perhaps I had just chosen the wrong person.” His smile turns painfully soft, and he pulls Gavin down with a hand fisted into his shirt, until their lips are barely touching. “You seem to have the capacity to capture my interest in every possible way, Detective.”

If Gavin doesn’t kiss him, touch him, do _something,_ then he knows he’ll say something he’ll regret; he’ll move too fast, too soon, too hasty, and he’ll fuck it up, and he really, _really_ does not want to fuck this up. But it’s hard to keep a leash on everything he wants to say, everything his stupid, needy, fucked-up heart wants this man to know, as R pulls him down further and kisses him, and kisses him, and _kisses_ him, and Gavin has to do something; get out of this room, get R out of that fucking shirt, because he knows that if he doesn’t, he’ll say it.

“C’mon.” He doesn’t recognise his own voice; it sounds too rough, and the groan that slips from him when R’s hands slide down over his ass is just fucking embarrassing. “We’re not doin’ this in front of my fucking cat.”

Not that Gavin knows where Mia’s gone. Not that he could tear his eyes away from what’s beneath him for a single fucking second, anyway.

R has an eyebrow raised, but it’s teasing, knowing. And with far more grace than Gavin’s shuffling and almost tripping over the coffee table when he stands, R gets to his feet in one, fluid motion. As much as Gavin had enjoyed being in the man’s lap – being above him, feeling those thighs beneath his own and feeling the muscles of his shoulders against his palms – R towers over him now; crowding him, taking his hips in his grasp, and this close, Gavin has to let his head fall back to be able to look him in the eye, and he fucking adores it.

“And where might we be going?”

Gavin slides his hands up, around the edge of R’s neck, thumbs grazing along the edge of that sharp, _sharp_ jaw, and he draws him down for another kiss; slower, and heated, and Gavin’s breathless and grinning when he finds the sense to pull away. “You know damn well where we’re goin’, smartass.”

He backs up towards the bedroom, R’s hand in his, those long fingers laced through _his_ , and those blue eyes are fixed on him. Gavin allows his nerves to spike only for a second, before he gives R’s hand an impatient, resolute tug.

“Now shut the fuck up, and come here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title's a [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_DjE4gbIVZk&list=RD_DjE4gbIVZk&start_radio=1/) by Two Feet, the lyrics made me think of Gavin.


	13. I said goddamn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title also from Pulp Fiction.

Gavin couldn’t fumble around for the light switch, or even remember where it is, if he wanted to, so the bedroom remains dark as they stumble inside.

One of R’s hands is in his hair, and the other’s sliding the catch on his belt free, and Gavin’s smiling and laughing against his mouth, and he feels like he’s high. Beneath R’s shirt, his fingers are taking their fill of taut skin and tensed muscles low along the android’s stomach. There’s enough light from the half-open drapes to be able to see; white and blue beams from cars and streetlamps cascade inside from the busy city, casting a vague outline of the bed and the furniture, and reflecting off the frames of old band and movie posters hung around the room.

The back of Gavin’s knees hit the mattress and he staggers backwards. He lands unceremoniously, catching himself on his elbows and sprawled on the bed with his legs dangling over the edge, but he can hardly care when R’s smirking down at him like that; hair mussed and shirt ridden up, and Gavin wants to run his tongue over the sharp jut of his hipbones. “Get the fuck down here.”

R, for once, does as he’s told; kicking off his shoes as he crawls atop the sheets, and it’s Gavin’s good opinion that no one, not even an android, should have any fucking right to move like _that_.

And, Gavin thinks to himself as he drags R down to take that smirking bottom lip between his teeth, he is thirty-six goddamn years old; _he_ has no business being this fucking hard already. But then R’s mouth is at his neck again, and he slides a long leg between Gavin’s and _presses_ , and Gavin could be seventeen or fucking sixty-five right now, and he’d probably be just as hard.

Groping to undo the buttons of R’s shirt is the only thing keeping him level-headed. His fingers are trembling, and they catch on the fourth button down, and Gavin ends up unapologetically snapping the threads of the last few in his impatience.

“This shirt,” R mutters below his ear, voice pitched low, and Gavin shudders at the sound; feels a shiver spike across his spine, “was expensive.”

Gavin, because he’s shitty, retorts, “Should’ve joined the FBI, then. Could’ve got a pay rise.” Though the fact that he gasps the words out, and his hands have slid around R’s waist beneath the open shirt to palm across bare skin, lessens the derisive effect he was going for. Not that he can actually give a fuck, not in this position; with R mouthing at his neck, and his cock hard and aching in his jeans, and his hands practically clawing along the length of the android’s shoulder blades.

R only hums distractedly in answer anyway, drawing Gavin’s shirt up and grazing his lips along his collarbone, peeking out from beneath Gavin’s neckline. R’s shoulders work to shrug off his own shirt completely and discard it to the floor, and Gavin realises, somewhere in the back of his hazy mind, that he’s never seen the android so distracted before. He feels a hot pang of self-satisfaction at the fact that _he’s_ the one responsible for it.

The mix of lights from the city outside spread across R’s torso from the window, and he’s _perfect_. And it’s not just the very small, humble part of Gavin that thinks it; the android was literally designed to be perfect. He’s visibly leaner than Gavin, and his muscles are lithe, built for speed, for agility, and without a fucking doubt, for driving Gavin mad these past two months. _Three_ , if he’s being honest with himself. From the fucking second Gavin had seen him, he’d been irrevocably fucked, and he knows it now.

“Fuck, yes–” R slips down further, an unyielding, solid weight above him, and he laves his tongue over a nipple, making Gavin’s head fall back onto the sheets, eyes screwing shut and _groaning_ open-mouthed at the ceiling. He feels R’s hands at the waistband of his jeans while his mouth teases, curious and impatient, and the android’s thumbs are digging into his hips, feeling Gavin writhe beneath his weight. “ _Fuck_ , baby–”

Moving lower, R hums again as he kisses a trail from Gavin’s ribs to the small scar on his stomach. Tugging Gavin’s jeans and boxers down to thigh level, the android glances up at him with a sly and greedy glint in his eyes. “I would like,” he says, pausing to take the head of Gavin’s cock between his lips and _lick_ , “for you to call me that often.”

If Gavin had manners, he’d say a worded response was no longer within his capabilities. As it stands, he doesn’t, and he doubts that he could even remember his own mother’s name right now, let alone form a fucking coherent sound. All that leaves him is a desperate noise resembling something between a whine and a moan as R bears down on him; his lips closing around his cock _,_ his tongue hot and wet and teasing, and his unrelenting hold on Gavin’s hips prevents him from thrusting up into that cruel, gorgeous mouth beyond a few inches.

“ _R_ …” Gavin whimpers his name, the single syllable breathless and strained as the android drags his tongue along the thick vein on the underside of his cock. _Fuck_ , Gavin can’t watch him do it; screws his eyes shut instead and grits his teeth as his stomach clenches with the heat of it. If he sees that fucking mouth on him, this will be over far too fucking quickly. “R… R, baby–”

R listens to _that_ , his gaze flickering up to Gavin’s face as he lets his cock slide from his mouth. Fuck, the sight of it, all of it – R’s untidy hair, his open, panting lips, and Gavin’s dick leaking precome against his own stomach – is almost enough to finish him off.

“Yes?” The android doesn’t sound happy about being interrupted; his tone is clipped, dry, and Gavin has to chuckle. Though the laugh is far more choked, far rougher than he’d like it to be.

“Baby, you gotta slow down, seriously.” Gavin threads his fingers through R’s hair to soften the words, though, and the android leans into the touch the same way that Mia does when she’s in a less bitchy mood than usual. “You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me. You’re…”

He breaks off, and because Gavin panics – it’s what he does every fucking time he might finally be happy, because he doesn’t trust it for a second – a thought occurs to him as he takes R’s appearance in; dishevelled and clearly irritated with Gavin’s hesitation. Gavin knows that R claimed to have done this before, with some faceless, nameless woman who wasn’t Gavin, and Gavin knows he doesn’t have the right to be as pissed off about it as he is. But it suddenly hits him, with all the kindness of a freight train, that he knows nothing about androids and, well… _fucking_.

Fuck.

“Is this even doing anythin’ for you?” Gavin feels ridiculous as he asks; pants around his thighs, cock still heavy and painfully hard against his stomach, shirt rumpled and only covering his shoulders. But he needs to ask, otherwise he has no idea what the fuck to do. He wants R to… well, he _wants_ _R_. And the thought that Gavin doesn’t know how to make the guy feel the same, doesn’t know if he even _could_ make him feel the same, cuts through the euphoria of the entire evening. “I mean, are you even… y’know, can you… I just–”

R gets sick of Gavin’s ramblings before he even properly begins them. The android rolls his eyes, actually rolls his fucking eyes, and then Gavin sits up with a start, dread rising as R gets to his feet – _he’s said something wrong, he’s fucked it up, he should have just kept his fucking mouth shut, fuck, fuck, fuck_ – and then R’s kneeling on the bed, taking Gavin’s wrist, his hand, his fingers, and guiding them, somehow gently and firmly at the same time, under the unzipped waistband of his jeans and– _oh fuck_.

“CyberLife was rather inclusive in our design,” the android drawls, still clearly annoyed at the disruption. “We were built to integrate with humans, and thus we resemble humans in every way. I also have sensors which can be activated as and when I choose. They are activated currently. Now...” And R hooks two of his fingers under Gavin’s chin, tilts his head up to meet his eyes, and whatever it is that Gavin sees in them makes his cock throb and heat pound deep and low in his stomach. “Instead of asking pointless questions, why don’t you put that mouth to better use. And we’ll see if that, as you put it, ‘does anything for me’?”

Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

R makes no other move beyond cocking his head, waiting, suddenly all patience again now that he has Gavin’s full attention. Gavin’s grateful for the short moment to allow his uncertainty, the anxiety, to scatter, and to feel need and relief rushing in eagerly to replace it. “Maniac.” He intended to laugh, but all that leaves him is a shuddering breath as he rests his forehead against R’s stomach, and he starts to press heated kisses down along the hard flesh and muscles of his pelvis.

R lets him move as he will, but Gavin’s very conscious of the fingers in his hair; they’re not pushing, not even guiding, but they’re just very, unignorably _there_. And they tighten when Gavin finally spreads his tongue over one of those hipbones, languidly running up the length of it as he frees R’s cock from his jeans and starts stroking.

He always knew Kamski was a fucking pervert, and Gavin doesn’t know whether to be impressed or weirded out by the fact that someone at CyberLife had to sit down and consider what sort of cock to give an android. In the end, Gavin decides that the poor son of a bitch earned his pay check; R’s above average, because of course he fucking is, and he’s hard and perfect as the fucking rest of him, and the weight of him in Gavin’s palm makes his own cock strain in neglect.

Still, Gavin teases, keeping his hand around R’s length and only mouthing at the skin around; his thighs, the supple lines of his abdomen. Until R’s grip tightens into something approaching painful, and he tugs Gavin’s head backwards to meet his gaze.

“I said,” and there’s a slight tension to the android’s ever-calm tone, “put that mouth to _better_ use. As a detective, you can surely figure that out–”

Gavin relishes in the sound of R cutting off into a low, unintentional groan, the grasp on his hair faltering when Gavin pushes forward and takes him almost to the back of his throat. The intrusion is sudden – his own fault – but it’s worth it to feel those fingers gripping his hair as he moves. Where R’s kneeling in front of him on the mattress, Gavin lets his own fingers dig into the backs of R’s thighs, moves to grope the firm skin of his ass; pulling R’s hips to him as he swallows around his cock and sucks hard each time he draws back.

“That’s it…” R’s voice is husky, and one hand has fallen to Gavin’s shoulder to curve around the back of his neck, and his hips are slowly pushing forward. “I do like it when you’re good for me.”

Gavin moans around him, both hot and mortified that the words and the low pitch of R’s voice alone are enough to make him need to come this much. He pulls at the back of R’s legs, shifting him backwards and down to lie against the covers. Gavin tugs the rest of R’s stupid, tight-fitted jeans down and away, shoving them to the floor. He shucks off his own shirt, and curses when his jeans get caught around his ankle. Gavin can hear R laughing softly as he witnesses his struggles from the mattress; naked and beautiful and Gavin wants to kiss that dumb, fucking smile off his face.

Instead, he leans back down, and takes R on his tongue again to shut the man up; pushing down until the head of his cock hits his throat, and R’s laugh turns into strangled, ruined gasp. Those hands are back in his hair, punishing this time; clutching and forceful, and Gavin chances his gaze upwards and sees R’s back arching off the bed as Gavin drags his lips back up the length of him. _Fuck_.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he pants out against the android’s hip, pressing wet and breathless kisses over R’s stomach, licking away the traces of precome there. Actually, he has no fucking idea what it is. He supposes it’s whatever the android alternative is; clear and tasteless. All Gavin knows is that it makes his tongue feel heavy and his cock ache where he’s started to grind against the bed just to ease some of the tight, urgent tension between his legs. “Baby–”

“ _Don’t stop_ …” Despite the way R’s voice breaks as he says it, it’s not a plead, it’s not begging, not even close. He clutches Gavin’s hair and _pulls_. “Be good for me,” he repeats, and Gavin’s hips jerk involuntarily against the mattress. “I know you can take it.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, holy _fuck_. The curses repeat like a mantra around in Gavin’s head, and he knows he could come from R’s voice alone, he fucking knows it. But he will be _damned_ if he doesn’t make R come first, and he _wants that_. He wants to feel those fingers clawing in his hair, wants R to use his mouth, push into his throat, wants to taste the heat against his tongue as he comes, and Gavin writhes at his own thoughts as R thrusts between his lips.

Gavin’s arms are shaking where he leans his weight on them, and his own dick is leaking on the bedcovers, and R’s making these fucking _shameless_ sounds as he drives his hips and keeps Gavin firmly in place, and it has been far too fucking long since Gavin’s done this because he doesn’t remember it feeling this _fucking good_.

“ _Gavin_ –” R’s head is thrown back near the pillows, his LED flashing red and his mouth open, and Gavin moans around his cock at the sound of his name being groaned out like _that_. R thrusts again, this time hard and unrestrained, and Gavin whines when he tenses, the sound muffled against R’s hips as the android holds him down tightly, coming over Gavin’s tongue, shuddering and arching against the covers.

Gavin swallows him down, working his throat and delighting in the desperate little writhes of R’s hips as he does so. After another few moments, R relinquishes his grip, his hand sliding boneless down to Gavin’s jaw to pull him away. Gavin’s throat feels raw, and there’s a thick warmth coating his tongue, and his elbows are sore where they’ve been supporting him. But he’s smiling and shaking with everything that’s happened, that’s _happening_ , and he laps slowly at the tip of R’s softening cock just to see him squirm, and just to feel the bite of those fingers when they fist back into his hair as a warning.

Gavin would very happily keep rutting against the bed at this point, beyond caring about any shame it might bring, so long as R’s hand kept pulling against his scalp like that. But then the android’s pulling him _up_ , dragging him up his body and into a kiss, and so Gavin grinds against his thigh instead; makes a needy, _keening_ noise at the contact. R pushes that tongue past his lips and tastes the sound, shifting his hand between them. His fist closes around Gavin and _squeezes_ , his palm moving slick over his cock, and Gavin grits his teeth at the blessed fucking friction, steadying himself with a hand braced against R’s hip, and the other curled around the back of his neck to kiss him deeper.

That’s how he comes, spilling between their stomachs with R’s tongue in his mouth, and that body pressing up against his, and Gavin choking out strangled cries against his lips. It’s messy, and intense, and Gavin has never felt so fucking defeated or so fucking good or so _fucking_ _happy_ in his entire fucking life.

He can’t hear past the blood pounding in his ears, but he’s sure he’s breathing out curses against R’s shoulder, because the android cups his jaw and kisses him quiet. It must take an entire minute, maybe more, for his heart to stop spazzing out and for his vision to clear and for his legs to start cooperating again. When they do, Gavin slips off to the side and flops against the mattress, one hand still trapped beneath R’s neck; fingers grazing through the short hair there.

“You came seven-point-six percent faster than the average man of your age.”

Gavin turns his head to stare at him, mouth balking open in wordless offence. A teasing smile begins to curl at the corner of R’s lips, and Gavin reaches up to grasp for one of the pillows and smack him across the face. “Prick.”

“I couldn’t help myself.”

“Fuckin’ prick. You came first, and don’t think I’ll ever fuckin’ forget it.” Gavin scowls as he stretches backwards to reach over the edge of the bed, turning smug when his hands brush against expensive fabric. He grabs the black shirt and cleans himself up, ruining the material, and he can feel the android’s disapproving gaze boring into him.

“The epitome of class,” R says dryly, as Gavin discards the shirt carelessly back onto the carpet.

Gavin, riding on the post-sex high that he is, braves the irritated eyebrow raise and the steely eyes, and shuffles over to kiss him again. In apology, he supposes. And because he can’t fucking help himself. Kissing R is enrapturing, exhilarating, and so fucking hot that Gavin feels his cock twitch valiantly, albeit weakly, in response. He–

Sudden gunshots ricochet from outside the bedroom door; left ajar and filtering in a single shaft of yellow light from the living room. Gavin tenses abruptly for a terrible moment, feels R do the same. Before he realises it’s from the movie they had abandoned and left playing on the TV. He sinks back into the mattress when he hears Butch and Marcellus Wallace’s tinny voices beyond the door. His heart’s pounding stupidly in his chest, and he huffs a laugh against R’s shoulder.

R’s smiling too. He presses it against Gavin’s lips, taking one between his teeth to nip lightly along it, and Gavin frames his face between his hands to keep him near.

“You’ve been extremely disruptive to my mission,” R points out against him. “I came here to watch Pulp Fiction, and that has still not been accomplished.”

Gavin barks a laugh, still slightly dazed by the fact that R.K’s in his bed; twisted in the sheets and mouth trailing along the crest of Gavin’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ll be makin’ you to sit your ass down to finish it at some point. No partner of mine’s gonna be a movie pleb.”

“A relief on my end, I assure you,” R answers wryly, and the next kiss is slower, less urgent than the last few.

“Seven-point-six percent,” Gavin mutters against the android’s lips, grinning. “You’re such an asshole.”

“And you’re an idiot.” R gives him a gentle shove, and Gavin collapses onto his back, staring up into R’s fond smirk. His LED and the light from the window chase all the grey from his eyes, leaving them a soft, unearthly blue. “You should have spoken to me. I’ve never known you to be shy about anything.”

“Shy?” Gavin scoffs, reaching up to brush that tuft of hair away from R’s eye just because he _can_. “The fuck have I been shy about?”

R levels him with an unimpressed expression. “Are you going to attempt to deny your attraction to me at the AXIS lounge? Your heartbeat was elevated throughout the evening, and your body temperature increased significantly after I began to share your drink.”

“Okay, okay, smartass, don’t make me get that fuckin’ pillow again,” Gavin warns, embarrassed. But regardless, he doesn’t bother denying it. He couldn’t; not now, not even if he thought it might work. “Why didn’t _you_ say somethin’ then,” he shoots back instead, genuinely curious. “If I was being so damn obvious.”

“I wanted to be certain,” R answers, as though it’s as simple as that. “I never close a case without having all the evidence, after all.” Then he smiles, and it’s that small, soft smile Gavin’s only ever seen directed at him. “And pride, I suppose. Pride may have had something to do with it.”

Gavin manages a chuckle, and tries not to think about the word _love_ that’s been on the tip of his tongue for longer than he’d ever admit. “Fuck pride, baby,” he says instead, and he tugs the android down for another kiss. “Fuck pride.”

 _Round fucking two, then_ , he thinks, giddy as the kisses become more fervent, as heated as before, and most of the blood rushes from his head.

Only this time, R’s between his legs; those strong hips pushing languidly against his, and Gavin’s thigh hooked around one to hold him there. R strokes him to hardness, fingers sinfully tight around him, and moving capably considering he’s apparently only done this once before, and never with a man.

“Jesus, you androids,” Gavin gasps out a laugh. “There anythin’ you’re bad at?”

R makes a contemplative sound, as he hitches a knee under Gavin’s side and nudges him over onto his stomach. Gavin feels the android brace himself over him, chest pressed to his back, and R’s lips move against Gavin’s neck as he speaks; chaste in contrast with the slow grinding of his hips against him. “I probably can’t cook, if that’s any consolation. No sense of taste.”

Gavin manages another laugh, but it catches on a moan as R’s length presses against him, teasing and promising all at once. “Top drawer,” Gavin says, and he’s fucking _shaking_ with the thrill of it. “And you better hurry the fuck up. Not like I’ve been thinkin’ about this for weeks or anything.”

There’s the harsh scrape of the drawer sliding open to his right. “As it is, I would prefer to take my time. I don’t think you’re in any _position_ to be ordering me around.” The word ‘position’ is emphasised in R’s amusement, but Gavin can’t laugh this time as he hears the cap of whatever lube he keeps in that drawer being opened with an enticing _click._ “Though perhaps if you ask nicely…”

Gavin stifles his groans against the covers, as two long, slick fingers start sliding over him. Too slowly, far too fucking slowly. Gavin pushes his hips back impatiently. It only earns him a chuckle, and R pulling his fingers away, and Gavin makes a sound somewhere amongst a growl and a whine.  “Come _on_ …”

“I told you,” and R bites another bruise into his skin, this time over one, tightly-drawn shoulder, “to ask nicely.”

 _Fuck pride, fuck pride, fuck pride, fuck it straight to hell_ because all he wants is R inside him. “ _Please_ , baby... please…”

R’s blessed fingers return, slicker this time, and sliding, sliding, until Gavin feels that first, glorious nudge at his entrance, and R lets him press back into it this time. R stretches him out, the friction searing at first, but also _exactly_ what Gavin wants; sharp and intense and grounding. Gavin’s jaw is stiff throughout it, taking each slow, deliberate thrust until pleasure gradually starts to replace the slight unease. He shudders as R’s free hand leisurely drags through his hair, and R’s murmuring praise against the centre of his back.

Gavin doesn’t know how fucking long it lasts, probably mere minutes, but he shudders again when R’s fingers leave him and more lube trickles between his cheeks, down his thighs, warm and thick. Gavin cranes his neck to the side, taking in as much of the android as he can from his place on the bed. R meets his gaze and grins. Fucking _grins_ ; wolf-like and delighted by whatever picture of dishevelment Gavin currently is.

He doesn’t care. He reaches back for R’s wrist, pulls him forward and presses their mouths together. “Please, baby, c’mon… please…” he begs between kisses, voice sounding less and less like his own with every push of R’s hips against him; his cock a hard, persistent weight against the inside of Gavin’s thigh. All Gavin can imagine is the length of it pushing into him, the sweet fullness as he takes it all. “C’mon… baby, c’mon–”

“Hush.” It’s not a reprimand. R still sounds amused, and terribly, terribly fond as he drags his hand through Gavin’s hair again. Three fingers press into him this time, the slide smooth and painless now, and R leans to nuzzle at the hair above the back of Gavin’s neck. He continues his teasing, pressing deep kisses between Gavin’s shoulder blades. “Are you close?”

Gavin shakes his head in a bare-faced lie, lips parted and probably drooling against the mattress, and he is determined not to come until he gets what he fucking wants. Instead, he grinds back against R’s fingers, and the android – well fucking attuned to Gavin’s bullshit by now – curls them inside him, and Gavin can’t stifle a needy groan this time.

“Liar,” R whispers, nipping at the lobe of his ear. But his fingers withdraw again, sliding upwards and around to dig into the flesh of Gavin’s hip. Gavin feels him kneel firmly behind him, cock pressing against him but going no further. _He’s waiting_ , Gavin realises. _He’s fucking waiting for Gavin to take him_.

Too desperate to focus entirely on _how fucking hot_ that is, Gavin bites his lip and presses back, feeling the sharp, sudden give. The tight burn as the head sinks into him is intensely, _torturously_ good, and he works himself on it, relishing in the sting of R’s fingers as they tense over his skin; steadying him, but making sure he can’t quite move precisely as he wants. “R,” he begs, trying to push all the way, trying to take all of him, but R’s grip is iron. “R, come the fuck _on_ –”

He barely has time to draw breath as R drives deeper without warning, and the sudden press of his pelvis against Gavin’s back is overwhelming and urgent and _fuck Gavin's so fucking close_. A wrecked moan pushes past his lips when R places a hand on his lower back and _pushes_.

“Oh _fuck_ , baby– _yes_ –” he gasps out, as R fucks into him like that; keeping him trapped against the bed, and pulling him back onto his cock as he thrusts. Gavin’s hands are fisted in the sheets, knuckles white, and when R reaches forward and threads those fingers through his as he moves in smooth and punishing strokes, Gavin sees R’s skin spreading away up his wrist to reveal the white, otherworldly reality beneath. Gavin’s certain R’s other hand is leaving deep, stinging bruises in his hip, and he _wants more_ ; wants to press his fingertips to the marks later on and _remember_ how it felt to be fucked like this.

R works his hips harder, his gorgeous little moans vibrating in his chest where he drapes himself over Gavin’s back, and Gavin knows he won’t last another fucking second when the android’s hand snakes around him and grasps his cock. He comes again on a coarse and broken cry, spilling over the sheets and clenching down hard around R’s cock; so much rawer and so much sweeter than any of his nights spent imagining this. A white, sharp heat coils in his stomach as he feels R come inside him; hears his stuttered breaths and feels the tension in his hips as he takes his fill, and Gavin’s panting and grinning against the sheets because he can’t fucking believe this is his life right now.

Holy fucking shit, this is _his_ fucking life right now.

R runs a thumb over the bruises on Gavin’s hip as he eases out of him, soothing the glorious ache his fingers had left behind. Gavin rolls over once he’s been released. The sheets beneath him are in an absolute state, but he reaches up and pulls R down onto them anyway, kissing away any of the dry complaints the android probably had at the ready about the mess. They thoroughly ruin R’s black shirt in the clean-up, and one of the pillows has somehow fallen off the bed, and Gavin can hear Pulp Fiction’s closing credits from where he lies, exhausted and light-headed and wonderfully fucked-out, across the mattress. He’s still grinning when R tosses the shirt back onto the carpet with an irritated tut.

Mia skulks in after some time, deciding she’s had enough of being ignored. She curls into a haughty ball on the windowsill and glares at Gavin, not that he could give a shit even if he had the energy. He doesn’t even notice himself drifting asleep until the bedroom door clicks shut, and there’s a glass of water being placed on the small table near his side of the bed, and the covers are being pulled up over his legs.

He remains awake long enough to feel R’s weight return, solid warmth curving against his spine, and Gavin falls asleep with the android’s forehead pushed to the back of his neck, and lips pressed against his shoulder.


	14. Flesh and wires

There’s a single, obnoxious chime from his phone. Gavin curses into the pillow, abruptly and reluctantly awake. He can sleep through most things; the early morning traffic, neighbours slamming their apartment doors on their way to work, helicopters escorting important snobs to the broadcast tower in view of his window. There are only two things that can rouse him so suddenly: Mia and the sound of his phone. And Mia’s way usually involves less chiming and more clawing.

Brain fuzzy, Gavin shuffles to reach down for his jeans, discarded over the side of the bed. He fumbles to grab them, dips into the front pocket to retrieve his phone as it chimes again, and he peers blearily at the screen. Almost nine AM. Jesus. No wonder it’s so fucking bright, in spite of the gloomy sky outside; he didn’t even close the fucking drapes properly last night, what the fuck.

He brings up the unwanted wakeup call.

_\-----------------------------_ Saturday 25th July, 2039 (AM) _\-----------------------------_

 **Tina**  
_(08:52)_  
So how did it go? Did you pussy out?

 _(08:54)_  
Or get your pussy eaten out ;)

 

Gavin scoffs and runs a hand over his face in an attempt to loosen the sleep-muddled tension behind his eyes. Fucking Chen. What the hell was she–

Oh. _Oh fuck_.

His gaze flits beyond his screen, lands on his jeans, on the trail of the rest of his clothes. And among them is R’s crumpled, ruined black shirt, and suddenly Gavin recalls everything all at once. Holy fucking shit. The couch, R’s mouth, his fingers, and his hands holding Gavin’s hips down, and that voice groaning out his name, _holy fucking fuck_.

A disbelieving, dazed laugh escapes Gavin in a rush before he can stop himself, and he collapses back to the mattress. He rubs a hand over his face again and grins like a dumbass from behind his fingers. Now he’s focusing, he realises what that feeling is; sore all over, legs and arms aching, deep bruises tangible on the sides of his hips. Fuck, he’s missed this feeling. It’s been goddamn months since the last time he did this, but still, even then it’s never felt this… this satiating before, this _good_ , not that he can remember.

He does remember R’s weight behind him, though; lips warm and smiling against the back of his neck, _holy shit, holy shit, holy shit_ , and Gavin shivers, turns his head to–

To an empty bed.

He freezes horribly. The sheets beside him are creased and rumpled, their state undeniable evidence of company. But there’s no one. Shit, but R’s shirt was still here, so he must be... But the bedroom door is ajar, too; letting in more dull, grey light from the living room, and letting Gavin definitively know that his partner is no longer there. _Fuck_.

Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.

Gavin keeps glancing between the door and the bed for a few seconds, as though he’ll magically be proven wrong.

“ _Mrrrrow_.” Mia’s on top of the drawers, perched between the small succulent that Gavin never waters and the photo of him and Tina graduating to the force. Her tail’s hanging over the precipice, flicking absently at the tip while she regards Gavin’s silent crisis, and her eyes are blinking slowly; lazily and without a care in the world. “ _Mrrow_.”

Gavin’s jaw clenches, and he shrugs back down to the bed, turning on his side. “Shut the fuck up, Mia.” His jaw’s tight, and he’s gritting his teeth, and he’s suddenly battling an unnecessary, overwhelming urge to start crying like a fucking child.

He hasn’t been walked out on in a while, and even then he hadn’t _cared_. It'd just been some random hook-up Gavin had liked the look of; some guy, dressed to the nines, white shirt, blonde hair, sitting near the bar he and Tina had checked out in one of the nicer parts in the city. Gavin doesn’t even think he asked the guy's name, and he remembers breathing a sigh of relief when he’d found his bed empty in the morning, shrugging back under the covers and falling easily back to sleep.

 _This._ This does not feel the fucking same. This fucking _hurts_.

Gavin realises he’s practically curled in on himself on the bed. He’s such an idiot, he fucked it up somehow, he _always_ fucks it up when he starts to care. Mia hops down and makes her way onto the bed, rubbing her head against Gavin’s nose. She’s probably hungry; Gavin needs to get the fuck up and feed her, but he just… needs a minute. God, he shouldn’t care this much, he should never have sent R that text, he should never have asked him to stay in the first place, why hadn’t he stayed _now_ , it hurts, it fucking _hurts_ , he’s such a naïve, stupid, _fucking_ _idiot_ –

“You’re awake.”

Gavin freezes again. His back keeps stubbornly to the door when he hears it creak open, hears R’s bare feet on the carpet. Hears Mia, the suck-up, start purring as he comes further into the room. Gavin can smell coffee.

“I understand this is the kind of thing people do in these situations, to break the ice as it were. Though I suppose I have only done this once before.” The bed dips lightly when R sits down, and Gavin abruptly wants to cry for a whole other reason. “I was trying to be quiet. I’m sorry if I woke you.”

He'd been in the fucking kitchen.

“You didn’t,” Gavin answers, far too quickly, and his voice sounds strained, and he needs to pull himself together right fucking now. He rolls over slightly, and sees R sat straight, shirtless – fuck CyberLife for that fucking body – and cross-legged atop the bed; hair still dishevelled, two extra little tufts flopping over his forehead. He’s holding a steaming cup of coffee between those long fingers, and Gavin’s heart is in his fucking throat. “Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

R smiles, and hands over the mug when Gavin finds the sense to shuffle into a sitting position, still half under the covers. “You’re running dangerously low on coffee, by the way,” the android warns. “There’s barely enough for another cup. I fear for the general population if you’re to be living off decaffeinated for a while.”

Gavin huffs a weak laugh as he takes a sip. He burns his tongue on the hot liquid, but promptly forgets to give a shit after he realises that R’s wearing his sweatpants. He must have grabbed them from the dresser, and they’re a little baggy on him. Gavin wagers his own hips are much less narrow; the pants hang low on R’s, those sharp hipbones peeking out the top and the gorgeous dip of his pelvis on show as he sits. And yet somehow, he still looks composed as ever.

How the fuck?

Gavin’s always despised mornings after; the awkward greetings, the scramble for clothes, the hasty goodbyes, the walks of shame out onto the street to hail a cab; braving the knowing, judging looks from the driver with a glare that says _I’m_ _too hungover for this shit and I dare you to comment, fuckhead_. If he’s not the unlucky son of a bitch waking up in their own home with unwelcome, overstaying company, Gavin’s usually out of their hair before the sun’s even made an appearance.

But R is not unwelcome, overstaying company, and Gavin is by far the luckiest son of a bitch in the goddamn world, and what the fuck does he do now? _God,_ first Gavin’s messed up over him leaving, now he’s thinking it’d be easier if he actually had. He doesn’t know what to do, he doesn't _do_ this kind of thing. What the fuck does he _do_?

He realises far too late that R’s watching him closely.

“Your heart rate was… irregular when I came in,” the android says, while Gavin takes another sip of coffee and tries to pretend he’s not having some kind of internal freakout. “It still is. You look concerned. Nothing I’ve done, I hope?”

Fuck, he sounds so uncertain. And there’s a biting, bullshit excuse ready and waiting on Gavin’s tongue. But he finds that he just… _can’t_.

Not after last night, not now. Not to R.

“I, uh… I thought you’d left,” he admits instead, determined to be fucking honest for once, and even though he tries for an amused, self-depreciating tone, his voice is uneven, rough after last night, and he sounds lost as all hell. “When I woke up, you weren't here and I just, uh… I figured, y’know. That you’d bailed.”

R raises an eyebrow. “Without my clothes? Wouldn’t that be interesting,” he muses, but there’s that soft smile on his face, and something agonisingly gentle in his eyes. How the fuck had Gavin ever thought them cold? “And extremely unprofessional, as public nudity is against the law.”

This time, Gavin’s laugh feels strangled by the lump in his throat; apparently adamant to remain for as long as R stays.

“Why?” the android asks, tone no longer teasing. He’s looking at Gavin patiently, openly; no analysis, no processing, just plain and simple curiosity. As if anything about this is simple.

Gavin’s mouth twists. He knows what R’s asking. But Gavin pushes anyway, like he always does. Defensive. Denying. He can’t fucking help it. “Why what, dumbass?”

“Why would I have… bailed?” The word sounds wrong on R’s tongue, and Gavin scoffs in answer.

It should be fucking obvious, shouldn’t it? “Jesus, I dunno,” he mutters, with a little more sharpness than he necessarily means for there to be. “Cause it’s unprofessional, and you give a shit about that stuff? We’re partners, we work together. People at the DPD are gonna talk,” he points out, because he always seems to have more evidence as to why he _shouldn’t_ have something than to why he should. “Because that’s just how one night stands usually go? No fuckin’ strings attached? Because…”

He feels himself frowning deeply as he goes on, but now that he’s started he can’t seem to stop. He’s always had shitty compulsion control. “Because you could do fuckin’ better? ‘Cause I’m human, and we’re shitty and screwed up and honestly not worth the fuckin’ time of day–”

“Gavin.”

He falls silent, and he refuses to look at R; jaw taut, Gavin’s gaze is fixed obstinately down in the depths of his coffee. But he can see the glow of R’s LED in the dark liquid's reflection, and it cycles from a soft blue to a tense yellow. In what? Confusion? Offence? Realisation that he could, in fact, do better than Gavin fucking Reed? Like that would be any kind of epiphany.

It’s started raining heavily outside; a scattered and arbitrary rhythm pelting the window. Behind the drapes, thick storm clouds have gathered and stifled the morning light, and there’s a fucking helicopter idling overhead, droning over the sound of the rain.

“I never expected to say this and actually mean it,” R begins, after half a minute of that pensive, awkward, _agonising_ silence. “But for such a competent detective, you’re a genuine idiot.”

Gavin blinks stupidly down at his cup, and when he chances a glimpse at R, Mia’s crept into the android’s lap. One of his hands is sifting softly through her fur. 

“I believe I told you the morning we met,” he continues, “that as of last year, I am a being with recognised rights and consciousness. Do you think I’d be at all here if I didn’t want to be?”

Gavin closes his eyes, realising how childish he’s sounding. “No, no, I get that, I’m not sayin’ you’re–”

“As for my _strings_ , as you put it, I’m afraid they’ve been attached for a while. So a one night stand is absolutely out of the question. For me, anyway.”

“No, I’m not saying that I want– I just–”

“As for the DPD, you should know by now that I care little for the opinion of others when it comes to my professional or personal life. And Eight actively encouraged me to come here last night, so I doubt we would get any backtalk from him or Lieutenant Anderson, at the very least.”

Gavin balks, and cannot form a coherent fucking sentence for the life of him. “Connor seriously– what, you and him talked about this, about comin’–”

“And as for you being human.” R cautiously takes his hand atop the covers, and links their fingers together. Gavin watches the blue, unearthly line spreading over the android’s wrist, up along his forearm, disconnecting the human façade from the reality beneath. “Despite your abysmal language, and your occasionally undesirable attitude, and your general capacity to undercut your own worth at every possible chance you get...” R squeezes his hand, and Gavin is so fucking in love. “I would change nothing about you. Because I know you would change nothing about me.”

It's a fucking confession, and Gavin’s chest is constricting, and his eyes fucking sting, and R’s going to notice, of course he’ll fucking notice and it’s so fucking embarrassing and Gavin doesn’t know what to say. So he leans sideways, pressing his face into R’s bare shoulder, coffee cup forgotten and cooling in his hands. It’s stupid, his heart pounding like this at such a simple thing after the flurry of things that had happened last night. But it’s a good feeling. Relief, he thinks. Anticipation, definitely. It feels like they’re on the brink of something new, something different. As though everything’s changing.

Gavin’s never liked change. He’s never liked the rain, either, and that’s falling even more violently outside. But now, both feel strangely welcome to him.

“I dunno,” he says eventually, and he tries to ignore the flush spreading up his neck when he hears how unsteady his voice is. “Wouldn’t hurt to switch up the turtlenecks now and then. They make you look like such an asshole.”

R laughs against Gavin’s hair, and Gavin runs his thumb over the white skin of the android’s wrist; watches the faint blue flares of the wires beneath. He brings R’s hand to his lips and presses a kiss over his fingers. _I love you_ , he mouths against his skin. _I love you, I love you, I love you_.

He doesn’t say it aloud. He can’t. But he will.

The rain doesn’t stop until late afternoon. By then, Gavin’s still low on coffee, and R is still in his bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This got sappy really fucking fast.
> 
> I hope this serves as an “ending” of sorts, but I cannot stop with these two yet and I’ll be writing more in this specific universe. Also find me on [tumblr](https://imogengotdrunk.tumblr.com/) if you have any specific ideas or requests, I’d welcome any inspiration for future oneshots.
> 
> I did not expect the amount of love and support that this trash fic has gotten, so all I can say is thank you and you’re all incredibly generous, talented, kind-hearted people. I’ve loved writing this, and I know I’ll love joining everyone for more of this crack garbage in the future.


End file.
